DA:Reminiscent
by fahRENheit2006
Summary: M!Cousland/Leliana. Retrospective look at the events that shaped their relationship, told mostly via Leliana's POV and the Warden's journal. Some alternate tweaking of events. T rating for small use of profanity and non-explicit adult content.
1. Prologue 1: Alone

**Ren's Note:**  
><em>Newbie alert! I've not written anything before (other than sarcastic blog posts) but this is something that nagged at my mind for some time and wouldn't let go. This series of recollections was how I started to see my Warden's story develop after being inspired by that bit of teasing during Leliana's romance. I embellished and blended some conversationsevents to adjust for flow and (perceived) drama. I apologize if my writing style mixes verb tenses oddly; I write (mostly) how I talk and I talk with imperfect sentence structure and run-ons. I also have grand intentions to add illustrations to this story, as in my mind my Warden was a writer and illustrator._

_I chose to omit a first name to retain the experience I had in the game (since the PC is pretty much just Grey Warden to everyone), and the dog is referred to only as "the mabari." And, as always, Bioware owns Dragon Age: Origins. I just like it a bunch._

_Hope you enjoy it! Or at least don't vomit!_

* * *

><p>There was a burst of light and then it was over. Leliana had only managed to exchange an apprehensive glance with Alistair before the Warden struck the final blow, ending the Blight after one long year. The shockwave from the death of the Archdemon had thrown her and Alistair off their feet, and her bard instincts kicked in as she recovered and readied her bow. But she needn't have bothered. Even now, black blood pooled below the unholy beast's head and all 50 feet of the dragon sagged to the stone of Fort Drakon's summit. A low mournful roar could be heard in Denerim below as the darkspawn army fractured upon the death of its god.<p>

Leliana sighed in relief and flicked her eyes up the long sword buried in the creature's skull, to the hands of the Warden that held it. A smile crept up her lips as she finally articulated that whisper of hope that had sat at the back of her mind. "We did it." No, he did it. The Grey Warden.

_Her Grey Warden._

She had already started toward him, eager to wrap her arms around him and celebrate his victory. Ferelden's victory. He had been so stoic for so long, so severe. He had carried the mantle of the Grey Wardens with a heaviness and quiet gravity. She hoped to finally see the weight lift from his shoulders, his heart. She had only seen brief glimpses over the last year, largely her doing. They had become sincere friends and confidants. Nothing brings people together like the end of the world. And slowly, they had allowed their kind exchanges and frank discussions to become something deeper.

Leliana had always been an open book. It was her ability to disarm with words and smiles that made her such a masterful bard, but also made her a good lay sister for the Chantry. She had a guileless quality that made trusting her seem natural. Easy. It was her gift. And she had even tried her best to keep her gift to herself when she joined the Warden and his strange group of heroes. After all, these were the people who watched her back day in and day out, as she did theirs. To be insincere was not only foolish, but dangerous.

But she could not be quiet forever, and quickly found friendships in all of them.

Well, most of them.

Morrigan had been a mystery from the start, a trait she obviously relished. Leliana's few attempts to get to know Morrigan were shot down with disdain. That woman simply did not seek closeness from anyone. Except the Grey Warden. A closeness Leliana was relieved her Warden did not share.

Alistair, by comparison, had been an instant success. He had a dry, self-deprecating wit and loved a good verbal spar. Their similar religious backgrounds, she a lay sister and he a Templar initiate, gave them plenty of notes to compare. The fact he was handsome and dashing was also not lost on Leliana, but her eyes had wandered to Alistair's brother-in-arms.

The Qunari, Sten, was even more stoic than her Warden. His rich baritone voice always communicated exactly what he wanted and not a word more. He was relatively humorless, except in his exchanges with Morrigan's flirtation where Leliana had been in stitches as he described the preparations Morrigan would have to take in order to be bedded by a Qunari warrior. She spotted glimpses of his softer side, and while one could never claim friendship with a Qunari, Leliana felt she had come pretty close.

Leliana had been naturally drawn to the elder mage, Wynne. She had such a sweet, powerful, motherly quality that made Leliana feel instantly at ease. Though her religious beliefs technically put her at odds with mages, whose magical gifts were considered a danger by the Maker, Leliana still had profound respect and knew Wynne reciprocated.

Zevran in comparison was a shameless flirt and more than once Leliana had to defend her honor against his lascivious remarks. Thankfully his lewdness ended at words. His assassin skills fascinated her, as her Chantry life did him, so they always had ready conversation topics.

Leliana struggled to understand the dwarven berserker, Oghren. One moment he was willing to brave darkspawn hordes to reunite with his estranged wife, the next he was drunk and making terrible innuendos to her and Morrigan. He often rebuffed her few attempts at sympathy by passing gas then giggling like a school boy.

The dwarven golem, Shale, was a delight for Leliana to talk to. While the golem was excessively homicidal with a penchant for murdering pigeons, Shale had an acute interest in the world around her.

Leliana pulled herself out of her thoughts as she closed the distance to the Warden, who still remained gripped to the sword. She opened her mouth to call out to him—

Something was wrong.

It seemed to happen as if in a dream. Leliana pushed off the stone floor in a sprint as she saw him slowly collapse. His grip loosened and she saw his head drop and his armored body tilt backward. She was a second too late to catch him as he fell heavily onto his back. Leliana didn't even remember dropping her bow and shaking off her quiver of arrows, she felt outside her body as she dropped to her knees next to him and reached for his head.

_No._

She had had this nightmare before after seeing him gravely injured. He was a warrior, so it was his duty to wade into the fray first. To make sure all enemies were focused on him so that she and their companions could pick off individuals in precision strikes. He bore the brunt of sword strikes, burning arrows and malevolent spells so that the others might fight in safety. And he was skilled at shouting and taunting any clever enemies who sought to flank the rest of the team. Leliana had lost count of how many arrows he had pulled out of flesh and armor or how many poultices had been slapped on his flesh to keep him standing for a few minutes more. After all he had suffered and survived, he more than anyone deserved to live.

_No!_

Leliana's breath had stopped. She saw his carelessly handsome face struggle for breath, the color draining to a sickly pallor, the light blue eyes lose focus. She cradled his head and neck into her lap, her right hand stroking his cheek. She couldn't even speak, for every fiber of her being was devoted to willing life back into his body.

He took 2 more shallow breaths, and his eyes suddenly sharply focused on hers and the corners of his mouth turned up for a peaceful smile. She heard the breath slowly exhale once more, and felt his body tighten for a moment, then slump to the ground. Still.

From the quieting din of fighting in the streets below, one voice could be heard. The battle stilled as Denerim listened to the mournful bay of the Grey Warden's faithful mabari.


	2. Prologue 2: Left Behind

She didn't know how long she sat there, cradling him, waiting for him to wake up. His cheeks glistened from her tears that fell freely as she hunched over him, her body mourning while her mind refused to accept his death.

"I just... I don't understand—"

"Leliana?" Alistair's soft tenor was at her side, and she felt a gloved hand tentatively touch her right shoulder. "You have to let him go."

"No." She only whispered the word her mind was screaming over and over.

"Alistair's right, Leliana. He's gone." Wynne was at her left, kneeling down at the Warden's head.

_Wynne. ...Wynne!_

Leliana's head snapped up to look at the soft blue eyes on Wynne's creased face. She searched them pleadingly, "He has fallen, he needs you to heal him. Quickly, Wynne!"

The woman's brow furrowed sympathetically, and she rested her hand on the Warden's forehead. "His spirit has left, child. Nothing remains to heal."

Leliana exhaled in a ragged breath and suddenly she was choking and heaving with sobs. The dam keeping her emotions in check had broken and her agony poured out. Her forehead and cheeks burned with the strain of her cries as her body rocked back and forth while clinging to him. Her thoughts raged in a torrent as well, unable to process his death.

_Why? He won! He did his duty! I don't understand! Did the Archdemon do this? Was he wounded and the final effort sapped his remaining strength? What could I have done? What didn't I do? Why couldn't someone else have died? Why wasn't it me?_

Leliana's body shuddered as her cries subsided. _He succeeded! He fought so hard for so long, and won! Why did he have to die?_

She didn't even process Wynne taking her wrists, Alistair pulling her back and standing her up. She collapsed against his chest, eyes closed tight, hoping that when she opened them it was just a nightmare, just a glamor like the Sloth demon in the Circle Tower had conjured.

But no, she still saw her Warden's silent form as Wynne reached out to close his eyes, and cross his arms over his chest in respect for the dead.

"He asked me... to give you this." Leliana didn't even register Alistair's words.

She turned to meet his gaze, her pain mirrored in his eyes. She followed his eyes down to a leather-bound book in his hand.

"He said this wouldn't take the pain away, but he hoped it would help you understand." Alistair pressed the stained tome into her hands clasped at her chest. _His journal._

She had seen the book many times before. That book and his family shield were all he had left from Highever, when his family had been butchered by the traitorous Arl Howe as a move to assist the usurper Teryn Loghain. Loghain had proclaimed himself Ferelden's guardian, hoping to unite the kingdom under his daughter, the recently widowed Queen Anora. One of Loghain's new policies was to condemn Grey Wardens as traitors, blaming them for the death of his son-in-law, King Cailan (a death Loghain himself had arranged at Ostagar by withdrawing support at the pivotal moment). Only at the Landsmeet, the meeting of all Ferelden nobles, were Loghain's crimes finally brought to light and justice served at the end of the Warden's blade.

She knew he had been born a Cousland, youngest son to the teryn of Highever. She had coaxed a few brief childhood memories out of him during their fireside vigils, and a few more from the safety of a shared bed roll. That book had become a private joke between them, for the night she had been brave enough to ask him to her bed he had used his journal as an excuse to turn her down. He revealed later that he was fearful of being too intimate, too close. That he could die at any moment and he had not wished to cause her more pain. He was the leader, after all. One of two remaining Grey Wardens left in Ferelden.

_...one remaining Grey Warden._

Leliana's mind suddenly focused back on Alistair's words: _"He asked me to give you this."_

_Wait..._"You knew?" She took a step back from Alistair, clutching the journal tighter. His swift glance to the side said it all.

"You knew this was going to happen? That he would die?"

Alistair stretched his hands out to her, but she would not be comforted. "We knew the risks. There was always a chance..." But the way he trailed off, her years as a bard knew a half-truth when she heard it. She glared coldly, willing him to explain.

"We swore an oath! To protect Ferelden! To be Grey Wardens!"

"Tell me. Tell me what you both knew would happen, that he had prepared this," she waved the journal in her hand emphatically, "in advance."

Alistair looked at Wynne searchingly, but the woman said quietly, "He's gone. And I think we've more than earned the truth."

Alistair took a step back, feeling ganged up on. He considered a moment and decided, _What harm could it do? Wynne had secrets of her own... and who knows how much longer that Fade spirit would keep her alive. And Leliana... He might have written down everything anyway. Plus, I would want to know if I were them.  
><em>  
>"This," he waved his hand at the Archdemon, "was always our duty. Only Grey Wardens can kill Archdemons. If anyone other than he or I had done it, the Archdemon would simply have jumped into another darkspawn and we'd have the Blight all over again."<p>

He started to pace in agitation, feeling defensive. "I told him to let me do it, _**begged **_him even. I never wanted to be king and I thought this would let me leave the best legacy for Ferelden. But you know him: once he makes his mind up, there's no telling him no."

He stopped and faced them, pleading with them to understand. Wynne looked thoughtful while Leliana wouldn't even meet his gaze. It was Wynne who spoke first. "What happens when a Grey Warden kills an Archdemon?" Seeing the flash of pain in Alistair's eyes, Wynne immediately regretted the question.

"Riordan said.. It-It tries to jump into the Grey Warden. But Wardens aren't empty shells like darkspawn. We.. We aren't strong enough to have an Archdemon soul and our own. We.. destroy it. Us." He trailed off.

Wynne regarded him a moment and spoke softly this time, "Your sacrifice is even greater than I imagined, Alistair." Leliana looked at Wynne quizzically, not fully understanding. Wynne turned and placed her hands on Leliana's shoulders, readying herself to offer comfort.

"He's saying... Grey Wardens aren't with the Maker, Leliana. Their spirits aren't going to paradise or the Fade or the stars or any fairytale place. A Grey Warden who kills an Archdemon ceases to exist. He gave up not just his life, but eternity, so that we could live. So that we could **all** live." Wynne made a sidelong glance to Alistair, who tersely nodded.

Leliana's eyes squinted shut and she hugged her arms about her tighter. It was Wynne's firm hands that stopped her from dropping to the earth altogether and simply curling up.

"Child, I know this is difficult. But to know the truth is to honor him." Her voice cracked with emotion. She had loved him too, in her own way. Wynne assumed it was a resemblance to his dead mother that formed such an immediate affinity. But over time she learned his thoughtfulness was simply part of his character. He treated everyone in their group with respect, always making the rounds by the fire to see how everyone was faring. She and he had many long philosophical discussions about his future. It had warmed her, made her feel like a teacher again. She felt partly responsible since she had given more than a few stern lectures about how important his duty was. _As if he didn't know,_ she thought soberly.

_He always took care of himself last. He tended to his wounds last. He wouldn't accept a bowl of food until he was certain everyone had their share._ The only time in her memory he had allowed himself to be first was this.

_First to die._

She swallowed thickly at that thought, and resolved to be just as brave when her time ended. Wynne felt a warm glow inside, the spirit within echoing her thoughts. _They would both be just as dignified._

"We will honor his sacrifice. And live, child. He would want that for us. For you." Leliana raised her head, her eyes red and glistening. She nodded and sighed.

"Come, dear. We should return to the palace. And make preparations." Wynne started to guide her to the stairs they had stormed up together only a few hours earlier. They had been so eager to reach this peak, the finale to a long year of fighting and preparation.

Leliana allowed herself to be led, but reaching the stairs she halted. She couldn't just leave him—

"We shall take care of him, Lady." A Redcliffe knight at the stairs standing next to Alistair read Leliana's thoughts. "He shall be treated with all the honor we can give." She nodded and started the long descent, her knuckles white from clutching the Warden's journal. A dull ache throbbed in her head and heart and she had to focus on each step with great care for fear of dissolving into hysterics again.

Leliana reached the entrance to Fort Drakon, and paused outside to take in the sight of the tall tower. This was her Warden's final resting place. She knelt at the bottom of the stairs and prayed to the Maker, though words of gratitude to the Maker refused to form on her lips. Instead she prayed for answers, for comfort, for safety.

And above all she prayed for him, that he was not truly lost.


	3. Prologue 3: Yours

The funeral preparations passed in a blur. Alistair gave a grand speech to the victorious troops in Denerim and congratulated their allies for their fortitude and teamwork to repel the invading darkspawn forces. The Circle mages led by First Enchanter Irving were few, but grateful to be treated as equals in the annals of history. Keeper Lanaya and her Dalish elves did not stay for any feasts or tributes. They had fulfilled a promise to the Warden and were eager to return to the Brecilian Forest. King Harrowmont's dwarven forces were less eager to return to Orzammar, and several taverns were tapped dry by thirsty warriors with a fondness for Ferelden ales.

Leliana remained subdued during these festivities and preferred to remain on the outskirts. Wynne was a frequent guest to check on her, offering consoling words and trite advice. The other companions celebrated and mourned separately.

The night of the battle Morrigan had simply vanished. Alistair threw himself in his new duties as King for he was desperate to live up to his Warden brother's example. Sten made arrangements to return to Par Vollen, for he had his honor restored. Askala, his Qunari sword, was at his side thanks to the Warden. Shale was curious about Weisshaupt Fortress and made plans to travel with Wynne watching over her. Zevran treated his freedom as permission to tour Denerim's brothels with vigor and made quiet plans to return to Antiva. Oghren joined his dwarven brothers in sampling every remaining barrel of ale in Denerim while returning to the Spoiled Princess tavern at the Calenhad Docks to check on his woman, Felsi.

Leliana thought of the plans she had made, under different circumstances. He had once asked her what she would do when this, all of this, was over.

"We've traveled far and wide, does it need to end?" She had developed a fondness for being back on the road again, seeking out adventure. And the journey had taken a much more bearable turn when she had someone to share it with.

"What about us?" He had asked quietly. She saw equal parts teasing and seriousness in his face. They had already begun sharing a tent on a regular basis at this point and she had confessed her love to him. He had not yet said the words, but from the way he looked at her and touched her, she knew.

Leliana had smiled warmly, weighing whether she wanted to answer honestly or jokingly. Honesty won. It usually did. "I would hate to be apart from you. You are the first thing I see in the morning, the last I see at night. I don't want that to change." He smiled back, pleased with her answer. He had lifted his head to scan the tree line, taking in the surroundings, pondering if this was a life he wanted to maintain. The Warden nodded, seeming to come to an internal agreement and met her eyes.

"I love you and would follow you to the ends of the earth." Leliana was taken aback by his intensity. She felt her cheeks flush with pleasure, but wanted to lighten the mood. "Oooh," she cooed teasingly, "How dramatic! I'm going to hold you to you word. I mean it." She smiled and started to walk away, but he reached out and touched her arm to stop her.

"I meant it. My oath is my bond. As I swore to serve the Grey Wardens, I promise to always watch over you and protect you. And I hope you understand, you believe, how much I have come to love you, Leliana." He gripped her forearm tightly, willing her to understand him. She had leaned forward and planted a lingering kiss on his lips.

A kiss she would never have again.

Leliana shook her eyes open. She was torturing herself with these memories. _Memories of him._

His journal sat on her nightstand in Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim. Well, up until 2 days ago it had been their nightstand. She hadn't had the energy to open it just yet, for her mourning waged a constant battle inside her. Most of her despaired, devastated that she would never hear his laugh or run her fingers through his hair or kiss his lips again. Part of her was furious with him for withholding his pending doom from her. And part of her admired his fortitude, his endless strength. He had walked into a battle knowing that even victory meant defeat.

_Did he not trust me? Would I have told him to run if I had known? Would I have run, if I were him? Damn him! Why couldn't he have told me! I deserved to know! He-we-_

Leliana exhausted herself easily with this endless cycle of thoughts. Other than to make brief appearances at meals and the funeral presentation of the martyrs who had fallen (he among them), she had scarcely left their room. Her room.

She dreaded what she might find in his journal. Professions of love to her he had never been able to articulate? Or worse, burning a candle for someone else all this time? She had other fears of a less selfish nature, worries about learning things to diminish the man she had loved.

She knew he wasn't perfect. It was possible she was endeared to his faults because of how smitten she was, but even their arguments about the Chantry, his inability to ask for help and secretive nature did not exceedingly bother her.

Leliana sighed. She stoked the fire and crossed the room to the nightstand. Out of habit, she stepped over the large fur in the middle of the room, still expecting to see the Warden's mabari stretched out lazily.

The dog had vanished after his death knell for his master. She had hoped the hound would stay with her, a living memento of her fallen Warden. But even though they had been on friendly terms, she was not the dog's master and he had only obeyed her in his master's presence. Leliana didn't know where he had gone, but she sent a silent plea to the Maker to watch over that slobbery hound.

Leliana scooped up the journal finally, resigning herself to the long-kept mysteries in its pages. Just as she was about to open it, a tentative rap signaled a visitor at the door. Leliana stood up to greet Wynne, who let herself in.

As Leliana shifted the volume in her hands, there was a flutter of paper. Two letters fell out and crinkled on the stone floor. Wynne regarded Leliana curiously, for one of the folded papers had her name on it. The other bore "Leliana" in a neat script.

"May I?" Wynne gestured at the ground and Leliana nodded. The woman scooped up the papers and handed Leliana hers. Leliana held hers tightly, anxious about what it might say and waited for Wynne to read her final correspondence from the Warden.

"Alistair... **King **Alistair, rather, asked me to invite you to breakfast tomorrow, dear. You haven't spoken to anyone since the funeral and-" Wynne trailed off as she read the missive. She raised a strong, wrinkled hand to her lips and blinked back tears.

"What does it-I mean, what's wrong, Wynne?" Leliana inquired gently. Wynne closed her eyes and patted her mouth, a smile barely visible. She opened her eyes and proudly turned the letter to Leliana so she could read. It was a short, simple note.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Wynne,<em>  
><em>I am no king.<em>

_But I will make Ferelden's happiness, my happiness. Ferelden's strength is my strength. Ferelden's life for my life._

_Your friend and grateful student,_  
><em>Warden-Commander Cousland<em>

* * *

><p>Leliana smiled. It was simple and straightforward. Beautiful. So very like him.<p>

"We once talked about what it meant to be a Grey Warden. The history. The sacrifice. The difference between men, kings and tyrants. He... he remembered. It was sweet of him to remember," Wynne explained quietly.

Wynne nodded to Leliana's hand. "Is that from him as well?" Leliana looked down. All her trepidation melted away. She hoped for as meaningful a message.

She was not disappointed.

* * *

><p><em>My dearest Leliana,<em>  
><em>There is so much to say. Words have always been insufficient for me. I never had your gift of word and song. I only had my sword and shield.<em>

_I wish you could have known me before this darkness. There was a time that I laughed freely, smiled often and lived a selfish, happy life. It is strange to think that only a year anon I was a different man. A boy, really. You have only seen a better but worse part of myself. A man who embraced the task at hand but was for all accounts dead already._

_Before you, I existed in a half life. Before the Blight, I strutted around Highever with the arrogance of youth, never satisfied and always wanting. After Ostagar, I strode with purpose but was hardened by duty. I only saw my revenge, the task at hand, the inevitability. There was no joy to be had in my new future, only solemn acceptance._

_It was you who opened my eyes to the beauty Ferelden still held. It was you who brought music to a soul muffled by the silence of the dead. And it was you who was my voice and strength to face the end with grace and humility._

_I will be with you always, as you have always stood at my side. My secrets, joys, victories, defeats, mistakes and desires are for you and you alone._

_All that I was, am, and forever shall be are quite simply: yours._

_Be well, my love._

_- Your Warden_

* * *

><p>Tears of joy welled up in Leliana's eyes, and she allowed Wynne to read her letter as she opened the book. She wasn't afraid anymore.<p>

The first entry was dated only 10 months prior to Ostagar. She flipped the pages to get a feel for the extent of the detail. There were a great deal of drawings; he was an accomplished artist for there were pages of ink drawings detailing weaponry, maps, flora and fauna, their companions, architecture, artifacts and several women Leliana didn't recognize.

"Oh.. Oh Leliana. It's ...lovely." Wynne's whisper brought Leliana back. Both women exchanged a sad smile and gripped each other's wrist in comfort. Wynne returned the note to Leliana and made a final stern command for Leliana to rejoin civilization.

Leliana smiled. She couldn't agree more. She just had some reading to do.


	4. Entry 1: Last of Your Line

The proper thing would be to start at the beginning. Leliana stopped herself from seeking out passages mentioning herself and more than a few dog-eared pages caught her eye. She wanted to know what memories he sought to revisit over and over again, to hold on to that part of him that he had kept locked away on these pages.

She tore herself away from his neat sketchings and margin notes to return to the front of the volume.

* * *

><p><em>Highever 12:3, 9:29 Dragon<br>Fergus bet me I couldn't win the 1st tournament of Haring, and here is the proof. A new journal and a tankard of ale. He says I was too practiced at fighting, drinking and whoring that next time he would bet me to carry on a civilized conversation or go 5 minutes without making a boastful remark. I told him any miracle was possible for the right wager, and that was how I suspected some of the Chantry's best miracles came to be._

_Our raucous laughter earned a few glares from the Templars at the next table, but I was in too high of spirits to be chastised by those bucket-wearing mage-hunters._

_I was saddened to see our evening cut short. It had been so long since my brother and I had a night on the town, for Fergus took fatherhood and teryn-in-training so seriously. He and father had begun a tag-team campaign to break me of my carefree ways, but I didn't see the point since Fergus would be the heir. I would probably end up captain of the honor guard unless I married some bann's daughter._

_As long as I had my sword and shield, I had all I needed. The tournament proved that._

_The exhilaration of tournament is still my favorite past time, and if not for sleeping or eating I would do nothing else. The strategy! The skill! To face an opponent twice your size and use his strength to your advantage. I had devoured the battle manuals and sword techniques as a boy and now no man could face my shield and walk away with victory._

_The adrenaline of the battle is closely matched by the celebration afterwards in the taverns. Drinks pour freely from admirers who won coin on my victory and I do enjoy the sultry looks from the maidens at the neighboring tables wanting to know if my battle prowess translated to the bedroom. After Fergus left to meet Oriana and Oren, I indulged a lovely Kirkwall girl who was in town to see the jousts. We held a private joust in her room at the inn, and I do believe we both came out on top._

* * *

><p>Leliana chewed her cheek at this introduction to her Warden's past. She knew from his ...techniques... that he did not lack experience. She was a little surprised at how freely he gave himself, though, considering his reluctance to start their dalliance.<p>

But if anyone had a colorful sexual history, Leliana did not need to look any further than herself. She had seduced more than her share of young noblemen (and noblewomen) in service to her bardmaster, Marjolaine, during her previous life as a bard. Did she hold him to a different standard than herself because he seemed so noble and above such trivial things? _He IS a man, after all._

However, saying these things and believing them are very different things, and while Leliana told herself she accepted his past, her heart fell a little. He wasn't as pure and good as she had led herself to believe.

She skimmed subsequent entries that detailed similar escapades and tried to find a silver lining. None of his descriptions of his conquests were cruel or demeaning. He seemed to have certain standards and was careful to find women who were unmarried or otherwise not daughters of well known Ferelden figures. He even seemed to care for them, whether in the moment or lingering for some time afterward, and there were passages mentioning attempts to correspond with his bedfellows before time and distance forced them apart.

His writing tone often shifted abruptly. One passage would discuss his mabari at length only to be interrupted by a drawing of a sword or axe that caught his eye. He had a fondness for weaponry, ale and books. As a nobleman's son he wanted for nothing but never became spoiled or cruel. Bryce Cousland instilled a strong sense of responsibility in his sons, requiring they learn the plow, the Chant, even their way around a kitchen. Leliana smiled warmly reading a particularly humorous passage about her Warden's kitchen disaster and subsequent exile by the iron-handed Nan. Alistair certainly had the honor of worst cook to grace the companions' meals when it was his turn in the rotation, but the Warden had only been a half step better because he didn't also burn his bland attempts at cuisine.

_At least some things were starting to make sense now,_ Leliana thought with a rueful smile. She devoured his neat script and boisterous attitude, page after page. She was nearly caught up to just before her name would begin to appear in his hand.

* * *

><p><em>Highever 10:21, 9:30 Dragon<br>Sweet Iona._

_My heart fell when I first laid eyes on her. But I get ahead of myself._

_Fergus and Father are headed to Ostagar. It appears King Cailan grows more and more concerned about the darkspawn in the Korcari Wilds that he has conscripted all of the Bannorn's armies to the cause. My brother has the honor of leading our terynir's army to King Cailan's awaiting forces to the south at Ostagar while my father follows with Arl Howe's troops._

_Arl Howe showed up curiously late and even worse the bulk of his army was delayed by poor weather. I supposed traveling such a distance as Amaranthine was trying for the Arl and his troops, but something about his tone of voice made me uneasy. Father dismissed it, for he had other guests to take care of, including the Fereldan Grey Warden general, Duncan._

_I had never met a Grey Warden before, and Duncan left a strong impression. Though I had devoured their tales as a boy and on more than one occasion held my wooden sword aloft as though I were balanced atop an imaginary griffin, I had little desire as an adult to join their ranks. It was similar to handing your life over to the Chantry, abandoning all you knew and loved to serve a higher cause. I couldn't bear the thought of no longer being a Cousland in my father's house, either, as all titles and claims are also forfeit upon Joining._

_I was dismissed from the Great Hall to find Mother and Fergus and start preparing my duties as commander of Highever in the interim. I made a sidetrip to retrieve my mabari from purging the kitchen larder of rats at Nan's request. I met Mother at the stairs with her guests. I remembered Lady Landra none too fondly, for earlier in the year at the spring salon she had gotten quite drunk and been difficult to control during my polite offers to dance. Her son Dairren meant well enough, though I was jealous that he would be following Father to Ostagar._

_It was Lady Landra's elven servant girl who drew my attention. She blushed demurely when I greeted her, and her husky voice touched off every ductless gland in my body. Lady Landra teased her that she had a crush on me, which intrigued me to follow up with her in my family's library. After my mother and the Lady departed for their chambers to rest, I couldn't hold in my excitement to speak with the girl, Iona, in private._

_Sweet Iona. She was pleasing and deferential, the result of many generations of servitude. It was her life that fascinated me. I had spoken with many of the elven servants in the castle, but Iona was so wonderfully different. I found myself genuinely, rather than just politely, curious about her. She told me about her life in the alienage, her deceased husband, her young daughter whose happiness meant everything in the world to her. I sensed a mutual attraction, and invited her for a more private conversation in my room later. _

_I had to meet with Fergus before he departed. He saw the gleam in my eye and teased me about my insidious plans for the evening, to which I responded innocently. Mother and Father joined our gathering in Fergus's room to see him off and say farewell to Oriana and Oren._

_I had picked at my dinner, counting down the hours until everyone would politely retire for the night. I myself made a big show of requiring early rest. True to her word, Iona tapped gently on my door after most of the candles had been extinguished. It took very little coaxing to take her to my bed and what followed was such quiet passion. She was pliant in my hands, eager to please and responsive. She tasted so sweet, both without and within. I found myself reveling in being at rest at her side, not just active. Iona had quietly drifted to sleep with the bedsheet tucked about her thin frame and I couldn't help but reach out and tuck her loose hair behind her pointed ear._

_I don't want this night to end._

* * *

><p>Those words hung on the page, their impact not lost on Leliana. She couldn't help but reach out and trace her fingers over the script, trying to capture some of that warmth for herself. She itched to discover if he had been similarly smitten with her, but found herself mourning his loss nonetheless. This Iona sounded like a fine, simple woman. And in a different life, they might have found happiness together. She turned to the next entry, knowing that happiness was not meant to be.<p>

* * *

><p><em>West Hill 10:22, 9:30 Dragon<br>And just like that, it's all gone. Mother, Father, Oriana, Oren… Iona. _

_Rendon Howe. That son of a bitch. Traitor. Murderer. I will not rest until that bastard and everyone who knew him is crushed under my blade. _

_I didn't even see it coming. I had been blissfully asleep with Iona warming my side. It was my mabari who alerted me. Iona had been frightened by his barks, and had cracked the door to see if something was the matter. An instant later, she lay dead on my floor, two arrows sticking out of her neck and breast. I only had the briefest reflex to slam the door closed so I could dive for my armor, sword and shield. I was moving outside my body as I carried her to my bed and respectfully covered her with our bedsheet. The sounds of the murderers tearing down my door finally broke through, and I did not hesitate to impale both on my sword. _

_The crest of Amaranthine was on their tunics. Howe's men. His "delay" had been a crock. I ran into Mother, who was bearing a bow and quiver, and we both crossed the hall straight for Oriana and Oren. But they were still, their throats cut. Mother's cry of pain made my blood run cold. We had no time to give them a proper burial, for the castle was under siege. We had found a few loyal guards to join us and keep Howe's men at bay for a short while._

_We found Father in the kitchen larder. He had been mortally wounded in the Great Hall where the battle had begun. We also found Duncan, the Grey Warden, at his side. I hated Duncan as much as I hated Howe. _

* * *

><p>Leliana had been stunned at this admission, knowing how fondly Alistair spoke of Duncan She had always assumed they both cared for Duncan as their Grey Warden elder.<p>

* * *

><p><em>He would not help me save my family, and demanded I join the Grey Wardens in exchange for my life. Mother begged me to go, that she would buy me time with her and Father's life.<em>

_To my eternal shame, I did as they asked. I was supposed to keep Highever safe. I was to watch over Fergus's family, my sister, my nephew. Mother should have been down in Bann Loren's Lands with Lady Landra, idly chatting about the next salon while Father and Fergus bravely fought in King Cailan's battle. Why had this plan gone so wrong? Why had the Maker allowed this to happen? Why did they all have to die so that I could live?_

_And Iona, sweet Iona. Her little daughter, Amethyne, would never see her again. Because she had agreed to bed a selfish prick like me. True, we found Lady Landra and Dairren still in their beds. They hadn't even had a chance to sit up before the blades and arrows had come down, so Iona would have probably shared their fate just with more clothes on. …Maker, I'm sorry, I shouldn't speak ill of her. I don't hate her. Just myself._

_Duncan had to drag me as far as West Hill before he felt confident that we had enough of a head start. I had punched and struck at him and he had patiently accepted it, before my grief became too sharp to bear and I collapsed. There was nothing left for me. I could only hope to die killing as many darkspawn as I could, for if I escaped I would go straight to Amaranthine and set the arling ablaze. And that's a promise._

* * *

><p>Leliana grieved for his loss. In one night he had lost everything he'd held dear. His station, home, family and faith in the world. She had only known him after, when his view of the world was cracked and dimmed by the atrocities the world of men held. She grieved for the man he was, but she loved him for the man he had become.<p>

It had been his end, but also his beginning.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ren's Note:<strong>  
><em>

_This and the next chapter deal with the Warden's history pre-Leliana mostly through his POV with some reactions from her. Not terribly action-packed, but shows where their heads are at.  
><em>


	5. Entry 2: A Warden's Oath

_Ostagar 10:25, 9:30 Dragon  
>Duncan was a respectful travel companion and did not ply me for inane discussion. He insisted on a very strict training schedule however, claiming I needed to be prepared for the trials involved in the Grey Warden Joining. I suspected it doubled as a distraction from my grief but I welcomed the chance to spar and work out my anger and despair with my sword. Duncan was a seasoned veteran with twin blades and more than once I found the tip of his dagger at my throat and a word of advice to avoid seeing it in the future.<em>

_It was only two day's walk to the center of the Korcari Wilds, but we had to stay off-path to prevent possible scouts of Howe from intercepting us so we lost an extra day. I found hope starting to blossom in my chest once more._

_Fergus. He had left before the fighting started, so there was a chance he had made it to Ostagar safely. I also did not want Howe or some messenger delivering the news of our fallen house to my brother. It should be me._

_I met King Cailan for the first time on the bridge to Ostagar. He was younger than I imagined him to be, with a boyish face and impressive gold plate. Thankfully, the King had no knowledge of Howe's treachery and vowed to bring him to justice when the Blighted menace was culled. For the first time in days, I allowed myself the belief that things would work out, that my home would return. _

_Fergus was not there. He and Father's men were the official scouts and were deep in the Wilds surveying for weak points in our and the darkspawn's defenses. I had hoped to see him before I was to go through my Joining, but that was not the case. He has disappeared and believed dead. Killed by darkspawn or Chasind or bandits. All my hopes and prayers are buried with my family. I can only look to the Joining._

_A junior Warden named Alistair, two fresh recruits and I were sent into the wilds above the building darkspawn army with a dark task. Our initiation required vials of darkspawn blood, gathered fresh from the source. Our secondary task was to locate an ancient Warden watchtower that held a chest of scrolls important to Grey Warden history._

_I feel I owe the two recruits details to their lives, for neither survived the Joining, but I had been so turned inward that I had not gotten to know them. I will not make that mistake again. Daveth, a thief from Denerim, was the first to die. Our joining requires imbuing darkspawn blood, and those that survive become Grey Wardens. Daveth was poisoned and had to be put down. Ser Jory, a kind knight from Redcliffe, had panicked at Daveth's death. The price was too high and he had too much to lose, and in the end Duncan had to cut Jory down for drawing his sword on us._

_I had nothing left to lose. I guess the taint knew that. When I awoke I was welcomed into the folds of my new brothers._

_I tried to feel a sense of honor and accomplishment, but I felt nothing. I had nowhere else to go. Becoming a Grey Warden would have stolen away everything I had lost; I was simply cutting to the chase, it seems. Wardens are not teryn's sons, or brothers, or husbands or fathers, and I am none of those things. And never will be again. _

_I am just a Grey Warden._

* * *

><p>Additional words scratched into the page contained some margin notes regarding a witch of the wilds as well as sketches of wildflowers that cure darkspawn taint in mabari. Leliana felt weighed down by the revelation that he had been living an endless nightmare of despair. But, in their separate ways, they were deeper kindred spirits than she ever knew. They both had fled to the only place that would take them in. Their willpower to survive was stronger than any tragedy.<p>

Leliana briefly wondered how different his attitude would have been if he had known his brother lived. Fergus had been gravely injured by a pack of darkspawn, but taken in by Chasind refugees fleeing the Wilds. There was no hope to find him, for the Chasind were master hunters and survivalists; if they didn't want to be found, they wouldn't be. It was only after the battle of Denerim that Fergus reappeared, finally well enough after a long year of rehabilitation while fleeing the encroaching Blight.

She had met his brother at Alistair's coronation. Fergus had her Warden's hair color, his similar build, a softness to his voice. They had shared stories of him during the evening's festivities, alternating between laughing and mourning. Leliana had started to write Fergus letters several times, but her quill could never seem to articulate the right words. She had questions for her Warden's brother, certainly, but he had lost so much in addition to a brother that her words felt inadequate and unwelcome.

The next entry was another to dread: the defeat at Ostagar and the massacre of Ferelden's Grey Wardens.

* * *

><p><em>Ostagar 10:29, 9:30 Dragon<br>I have only just awoke from the events yesterday, and I find myself in a hurry to get it on paper for fear of missing a detail._

_We were betrayed. And defeated. Alistair and I are all that remains. _

_Yesterday's battle had been well in hand. Alistair and I were to light the beacon to signal Loghain Mac Tir's arm of troops to rush in and flank the darkspawn gathered in the valley. Duncan and King Cailan were at the head of the front lines to draw the horde in. But something went wrong. A party of darkspawn had snuck past our lines and invaded the watchtower. It took over an hour for Alistair and I to carve our way through and light the beacon._

_Help never came. We stood at the tower like helpless children, watching the bloodbath below. I had never hated my spyglass more than when I used it to see the King crushed by an ogre, and Duncan overwhelmed by infantry. Cut down like lambs to the slaughter. A siege engine sent a boulder into our watchtower and the roof collapsed on Alistair and me._

_It was midday when we awoke in a hut in the woods. It seems the witch of the wilds we had met earlier in the week had kept an eye on us and her mother staged a rescue. I'm told she transformed into a dragon and swooped us to safety, though Alistair is convinced swooping is bad._

_They turn my blood cold, these witches. The mother is old and wizened and angry, while daughter is beautiful but resentful. But the pair saved our lives, and more they kept the treaties we had been tasked with finding at my Joining safe._

_The treaties. These ancient documents once bound every race in Ferelden to the Grey Wardens' beck and call to face an oncoming Blight. We were to give them to Duncan and the elder Wardens to use. And now… We are all that remains. When I spoke with Alistair on next steps, he deferred to me. The witches as well looked at me expectantly._

_I don't know how I came to be drafted as the leader of this hopeless cause. But I again felt as I did at my Joining: nothing. I wanted to yell and curse and flee. Instead I felt nothing. It was not a question of "Why me?" or "How can I do this?" but simply is. It must be done. I wondered if the Wardens of the previous Blights felt as I did. I did not feel humbled by my task or pride in my role or even fear at how impossibly daunting and ludicrous this all was. _

_I have a task set before me and I must do it._

_The witch, Flemeth, strangely donated her daughter to our cause and not just as a guide to exit the Wilds (a distinction not lost on the girl, Morrigan, who protested quite vehemently). Flemeth claimed noble intentions, but I find myself wary of such free assistance. Morrigan is a capable enough ally, however. Her shapeshifting magics and survivalist knowledge coupled with her incomparable beauty and wit were a deadly combination to have at our disposal. Alistair seconded Morrigan's apprehension, for even in our brief exchanges it was obviously those two had a severe dislike for the other._

_I ventured down the Imperial Highway out of the Wilds with a far heavier burden than I had entered._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ren's Note:<strong>  
><em>

_So I really love the series Mass Effect. But one thing that always sort of annoyed me about Shepard was how cheerfully he (or she) strolled into battle without so much as a complaint. Which is why when I was crafting my Warden, I liked the idea that he wasn't some goody-two-shoes plucky hero ready for adventure. He got thrown into a really crappy situation but short of committing suicide or curling up in the fetal position, there was jack shit that he could do about it. _

_I also apologize for the wall of italics. Leliana comes into play in the next installment so I can finally get out of the Warden's head and switch back to hers.  
><em>


	6. Entry 3: Rose of Orlais

**Ren's Note:**

_I found it fascinating that when playing a female warden romancing Alistair, Leliana freely praises how handsome he is. Which is why I thought it would be interesting if her eyes had wandered to Alistair first before settling on the Warden. Plus we know how this turns out, so let's have some fun with it at least._

* * *

><p><em>In my dream, I stood at the edge of a cliff on Dragon's Peak near the northeastern coast. I could see all of Ferelden stretched before me. To my left the lighter greenery of the Brecilian Forest merged into the dense forests and swamps of the Korcari Wilds. Beyond that, Lake Calenhad pooled below with the Circle Tower jutting out of its center. The plains of the Bannorn were at the center, crisscrossed with paths and irrigation for bustling cities and peaceful farms. To my right the cliffs along the coastlands climbed out of lush meadows, alternating between wintry peaks and fertile valleys. <em>

_It was midday, so I turned to Lothering to see if I could hear the sweet toll of the Chantry bells. Instead of ringing, I heard a roar. It gnashed and swelled and sent a shiver down my spine. Suddenly a shadow fell over the sun and the land was cast in darkness. A deeper shadow emerged from the Korcari Wilds and began to grow, consuming the rest of Ferelden in a deep impenetrable fog. I was rooted to the spot, helpless, as the icy darkness reached my mountain and crept over my body. I attempted to scream as it flowed over my head and ran down my throat. I was awash with despair and tried to fight, but I felt myself sinking into the darkness and disappear._

_A bright flash of light split the darkness and I was freed. I could see the light below me and I fell into it._

* * *

><p>The Chantry bells jarred Leliana out of her thoughts. She sat at a table at Dane's Refuge, a stone's throw from her former home in the nunnery. She adjusted her light travel burden, trying to determine where to go to find meaning in her strange vision.<p>

The Reverend Mother had been patient and supportive yesterday when Sister Leliana had told her of her intentions. She had extended a thoughtful hand to the beautiful rose emerging from the gnarled roots and thorns of the corner rosebush and given Leliana a terse nod. The now former sister had gathered up the remnants of her former life as an Orlesian bard; her daggers, bow and travel clothes were dusty and stiff after 2 years of neglect at the bottom of a chest. But Leliana was determined to go to Denerim if necessary and offer her services to Queen Anora herself if it would help stop the Blight from consuming Thedas.

A clamor erupted at the door. A small contingent of soldiers pounced on the group of people who had just entered the tavern. Leliana tried to peacefully intervene, but swords were drawn and blows exchanged. Leliana decided to lend her daggers on behalf of the new refugees, for the soldiers had been acting like entitled brats since the moment they came to Lothering.

Surprisingly, the newcomers turned out to be Grey Wardens. And even more surprisingly, the man who appeared in charge showed mercy to the soldiers who just seconds before called him and his fellows traitors and murderers.

Leliana regarded them carefully. The Warden in the lead was tall and powerful. She had seen his shield flash out with incredible precision to knock back and disarm several soldiers without so much as knocking over a tankard on a nearby table. He had sad, gray-blue eyes, messy brown hair (with a touch of red) and several days stubble coating his cheeks with heavier patches around his chin and mouth. He was somewhat handsome but had a quiet gravity that impressed her.

His brother Warden, "Alistair" she heard him called, was similarly tall and powerful. He was exceptionally handsome with a cocky but earnest voice. She recognized his fighting stance as Templar-trained though he bore no crest or Chantry relics. Alistair appeared very young as well, a thought that made Leliana chuckle. _I am only 31 and that decade of distance may as well be an eternity compared to this young one. He is certainly a strapping boy, though._

Her continued appreciation of Alistair's fine form was interrupted by a harsh word from the woman in their stead. She scoffed at Leliana's presence and the women regarded each other coldly. Leliana recognized an apostate straightaway by the gnarled quarterstaff decorated with baubles and runes to enhance magicks she cast. This woman, Morrigan, also had a strange otherworldly beauty that could not be claimed by any country. Her amber eyes, shining black hair and molded form were not distinctly Fereldan, Orlesian, or even of the Free Marches.

The lead Warden was intrigued by Leliana's fighting abilities, and she introduced herself as a lay sister with a vaguely colorful past. He greeted her chivalrously and she detected nobility in the way he bowed his head and crossed an arm to his chest. Her words tumbled out, she was so excited to see her vision come to fruition and be presented with an opportunity to fight the Blight.

"The Maker told me to help you." To his credit, the Warden did not mock her or laugh. His cohorts were not so pleasant, a derisive "More crazy? I thought we were all full up" spilled out under Alistair's breath. The Warden ignored him and patiently asked Leliana to elaborate. She attempted to explain, nearly begging to offer her services to do the Maker's work.

To her surprise, he agreed, citing her obvious skill in battle as an asset. Leliana was pleased to fall in behind this Warden and his growing group of heroes. Time would tell if he was the rose she hoped him to be, emerging from the darkness to return light to Ferelden.

* * *

><p><em>Lothering 11:11, 9:30 Dragon<br>Our cadre of characters is growing. First a witch whose mother has lived a dozen lifetimes. Then a Qunari prisoner seeking an answer to the Blight that his religion demands. And now a Chantry sister. She is the only one so far to join us willingly, and claims to do so at the behest of the Maker._

_I asked her to clarify her vision and she seemed defensive. But her dream mirrored pieces of nightmares I had been having since leaving Highever, with the curious addition of a rose she claims symbolizes hope. Whether we share a connection to the Blight or just our nightmares seem to be conjured from the same part of the Fade, I believed her. Or, rather, I believed she believed. And that's enough. _

_I had known a few Orlesians, ex-patriots who remained behind after the occupation ended. She had their accent, a rapid dialect that strangely clipped some vowels but elongated others when translated to the Fereldan tongue, but with a more musical and innocent quality. Even her name, Leliana, seemed to bounce innocently amongst its syllables._

_Her way with bow and sword indicate a fascinating life before donning Chantry robes. Leliana was evasive when I pressed her for details, but we have a long road ahead and many quiet nights at camp to fill, so I was in no hurry._

_Camp together after leaving Lothering was the first time I found myself cautiously optimistic. A dwarven merchant and his savant son delighted in following us and in thanks for leaving their wares unmolested by darkspawn offered a helpful discount. Though they would not benefit us in battle, their presence made our camp feel less of a hideout and more a community._

_The sister, Alistair, Sten and I raised our tents around the main campfire but Morrigan preferred to prop her wilder tent further away next to the glow of her magical fire. Our meals were shared with cautious introductions, but soon Alistair had us rolling with silly tales of his childhood at a Templar monastery. He and the sister were wonderful storytellers, masterfully extracting the details and savoring the punchlines for maximum effect. I was already fond of Alistair before we were officially blood brothers, but to know he was such an easy travel partner was a relief. He had been extremely distraught after Duncan's death and I worried he would be a sullen prat during what I suspect would be a very long journey._

_I found myself enjoying establishing rules for the watch and making my way around the camp to converse one-on-one with my new travel family. I remember Daveth and Ser Jory and am committed to my promise to never again take travel companions for granted. _

_There was a revelation when speaking with the sister privately several nights later on our travels to Lake Calenhad. She confessed an attraction to Alistair and quietly inquired for details about him. I admit I had an initial spark of interest towards the sister, but such childish infatuations would be a distraction from my duty to lead. _

_Besides, Alistair was still a virgin and it didn't seem right that he run around facing the end of world without feeling the comfort of a woman at least once._

* * *

><p>Leliana rolled her eyes. <em>Ass<em>. He still had that arrogant streak carried over from his former life as a brash nobleman. A defense mechanism to see relationships as playthings rather than meaningful pursuits. But again, these were more thoughts she would have known nothing about without them brought to life with quill and ink.

In regular company, she remembered how patient, how quiet the Warden had been, particularly after the revelation of Leliana's past life in Orlais. Eventually Leliana's honest nature had gnawed at her until she had approached the Warden several nights later to speak plainly about the origins of her skills. The witch had gloated over "what a little deceiver" Leliana had been to their group, while Alistair had been much more interested in the racy details of what went on behind the scenes with the Game. Sten had been characteristically mute, though he would tersely quiz Leliana about her gender's place in battle. A lose-lose discussion for both parties.

Leliana had been relieved the reception to her previous life was well-received (or at least lukewarm and tolerated), and dove into her new role as the resident archer and lock-picker with renewed hope.

* * *

><p><em>Calenhad Docks 11:23, 9:30 Dragon<br>Circle Tower had been a nightmare within a nightmare, literally. Overrun with abominations and power-mad Templars, my companions and I also had to suffer through being ensnared by a sloth demon in the Fade._

_It was a peculiar experience, for I felt strangely powerful despite having no magical ability. There were powerful spirits in the Fade eager to assist me, possibly just as desperate to be rid of the bloodmage's stink as I was. I found myself able to take a multitude of forms: first a mouse, then an undead warrior made of fire, then a tremendous golem and finally a skeletal mage capable of altering the reality of the Fade. It was through these forms I was able to find my companions who had been scattered by the demon's power. _

_I do not understand why I was more immune to the glamors of the Fade, though if my companions' illusions were any indications, I believe the Sloth demon could not place me in a worse situation than the life I currently led, nor was there anything that remained in this world to truly tempt me to complacency. Its initial attempt to alter reality so that Duncan lived and Ostagar was a success was so ridiculous I could not even feign disbelief._

_We cut down the evil mage Uldred in time to spare the First Enchanter two terrible fates: one as a mindless abomination or one snuffed out by the Templars' Right of Annulment. Our endeavors claimed Circle Tower bonded to the Grey Warden treaties and a new companion, an elderly mage name Wynne who had been another victim of Loghain's treachery at Ostagar._

_We set our sights west to the Frostback Mountains and the dwarven kingdom of Orzammar._

_I have made some steps in bringing Alistair and __ Leliana together but I despair that Alistair is too clueless and hardheaded to open his eyes to the beautiful creature in our midst. I find myself drawn to her despite my chivalrous intentions. I keep telling myself each inquiry to her past and each story I savor is intended as merely wholesome conversation fodder on Alistair's behalf._

_However, my attempts at bravado are waning and I find myself putting distance between the man I was and the man I want to be. I am a pup of Highever no more so fitting Alistair into the neat womanizing niche I had carved for myself feels petty in the grand scheme of things._

_But I find myself endeavoring to live up to the bard's romantic example by finding pieces of happiness for her and each of my companions. It warms me to find modest treasures and simple sundries of great personal value for them, to give them hope by being that hope myself, even silently. _

* * *

><p>She recalled the first gift she had received during their travels, but from Alistair, not the Warden. Leliana had expressed a strong desire to supplement her tales with music but a lute had not been among her Chantry possessions. Leliana's flirtations with Alistair had still been restrained, for she was still tentatively curious about the sort of man he was.<p>

Alistair had awkwardly approached her at the communal fire at the base of the path to Orzammar holding out a large lumpy package sloppily wrapped in burlap and twine. Leliana had attempted coy surprise, but when Alistair did not respond she switched to a warmer, closer appreciation. He had laughed discordantly while she unwrapped the gift, a beautiful lute made of pinkish rosewood with an intricate Orlesian rose carving in the center of the body.

Their frank discussion of favorite music quickly decayed, for to Alistair all instruments were the same. He also let it slip that the instrument was not his idea, that the other Warden had asked him to deliver it. He joked about the monastic chanting he endured as a boy as being a wonderful sedative and evaded Leliana's attempts at personal questions. She could not tell if he was being willfully ignorant or simply uninterested.

Her answer came later as she overheard an exchange between Alistair and the Warden. Alistair was quizzing him on his opinions on their growing collection of characters. He teased about having a nefarious plan to uproot the Warden as leader by inciting mutiny over his gossipy remarks. Leliana stifled a laugh, knowing Alistair was as likely to take the reigns of this adventure as the Warden's mabari was.

They agreed Sten was a force to be reckoned with, but his restraint because of the Qun was curiously at odds with his previous behavior butchering an innocent farm family in Lothering. Morrigan's underlying intentions were hotly debated, for Alistair could not fathom why the Warden wanted to keep that "total bitch" around. Alistair pleaded that the rumors of a relationship between Morrigan and the Warden were not true, which he nonchalantly evaded as being a fabrication. But the possibility bothered Leliana for some reason._ Maker's Breath, am I jealous? Why would I be jealous?_

At the sound of her name, Leliana's ears perked up. "What about Leliana? Is she crazy? Or do you really believe her vision?" She scoffed silently, irritated that Alistair was so negative about her faith because his had evaporated._ Well if that's how he feels about it, fine then_. The Warden's answer was neutral, admitting there could be truth to her words. Alistair surprised her by being grateful for her timely presence in Lothering to lend a hand. Then Alistair's gossip turned to the Warden's opinion of her.

"I notice you and her have become …close." He savored the word smugly, then continued, "Am I right? The rest of us have talked about it." _Talked about what,_ she wondered. The Warden was noticeably flustered, asking why the others talked about him. Alistair teased back that gossiping about him was a fond past time, then demanded to know if there was truth to it. The Warden evaded that it was nobody's business, to which Alistair smirked that that was as good as a yes. Leliana was surprised with herself to discover this indirect confession actually pleased her.

"I don't know what to make of her. If you look at her when she doesn't see you, she just looks so sad. I almost feel guilty taking her away from her life." Alistair's admission surprised her, and even further so was the Warden's: "It was her choice. One I am glad she made. Because… …well, because she has proven very useful." Leliana caught the soft emotion behind those words, before the Warden retreated back to a more formal evaluation.

She had much to think about now.


	7. Entry 4: Chivalry is Dead

Thoughts of the Warden started to creep up on her during her waking hours, not just flitting fancies of her dreams. She grew more and more bold with each passing conversation. While he was never overt or straightforward, which maddened her terribly, she was learning to see his subtle hints.

He was not the sort of man to shout his desires from the rooftops or pledge to slay dragons to curry favor. No, the Warden was quiet, simple and thoughtful. His praise of her beauty came as segues in their conversations. His fondness for her stories showed when he waved their companions to silence so that he might better hear her. He did not boast extravagant gifts to impress, instead opting to quietly offer or even leave outside her tent items that she had mentioned in passing as something of profound meaning: bouquets of her mother's favorite wildflowers, a pair of blue-ribboned shoes she had once desired back in Orlais, relics attributed to Holy Andraste and even a pet nug from Orzammar.

The problem with his subtlety was that she could not tell how deep his kindness ran. And she was not the only recipient. Morrigan had taken to sending Leliana hateful looks during their meanderings around camp. She even started making snide offhand remarks during their joint wanderings, just out of earshot of the Warden.

Morrigan started carefully, with light insinuations about sharing, then grew bolder to threaten consequences for Leliana's growing intimacy with the Warden. As the weeks progressed Morrigan's mood grew more and more sullen (even for her), and finally erupted in an argument in the marketplace of Denerim.

"You cannot _possibly_ think he would prefer you?" Leliana was taken aback at this, but held her ground, "Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you." Even in anger Morrigan always kept her composure, appearing unruffled, "Oh, and what is it exactly that you believe you have to offer?"

Leliana watched the Warden's back as he approached a vendor and pulled out his purse to purchase sundries and considered a moment. Their nearly nightly conversations, both idle and rich, had stirred something within her that had laid dormant for many years.

She smiled faintly, turning back to Morrigan. "I don't know, but if we are together it will be because he wants me and he loves me. These things are real." The conversation quickly decayed into Morrigan's disdain for Leliana's childish notions of "love" versus Leliana's disgust towards Morrigan treating the Warden as a bedroom dalliance only.

The witch's tongue grew sharper still, retorting, "The way you look at him so intently, so hungrily... One would think you have never seen a man before." A direct hit, for Leliana blushed furiously. _Was my watching him so obvious to everyone?_ Leliana tried to be nonchalant. "Where I look is not your concern." Morrigan would not be deterred, however, and struck back with, "It is almost as though you wish he would feel your gaze upon him and notice you." Leliana fumed. _I am not so childish as that!_ But Morrigan continued, a chill smile on her full lips. "And maybe he does notice you, but what does he see? A girl, skinny like a boy with wild, ragged hair."

Her cold words hit home with Leliana. She had no false modesty about her appearance; Leliana knew she was rather beautiful with her full lips, bright blue eyes and lithe grace. Her training as a bard allowed her to switch effortlessly between a demure maiden and a confident lady of means; whatever her mark needed her to be in order to win the game. But she had opted to be herself and play this role of companion honestly, wearing her faith and guileless nature on her sleeve with no underlying intention to woo. She had been overjoyed when he had responded favorably to her and sensed a kindred spirit within him.

But Morrigan was a different story. She flaunted her beauty and reveled in the attention, but played coy and disinterested when it suited her. She wore her hair carelessly but her makeup accentuating her exotic amber eyes, chiseled cheeks and large mouth was meticulously applied. Morrigan also showed no interest in upgrading her clothing or gear, preferring to remain in Chasind rags that set off her voluptuous curves. In a contest of raw beauty, Morrigan was the superior opponent. And she knew it.

Leliana found herself suddenly bolstered, her insecurity washed away by peace. She internally thanked the Maker for strengthening her resolve. _I will not be undone by this woman_. "What is your point, Morrigan? That I am not attractive? I do not need to make disparaging remarks about other women to make myself feel better. I know who I am."

Morrigan's smug smile wavered, which encouraged Leliana to continue, "You say that I am the one who tries to be noticed, when it is you. He has ignored your advances, hasn't he?" Morrigan's yellow eyes narrowed, confirming Leliana guessed correctly. Leliana was relieved. _He hasn't taken that fiend of a woman to his bed. _This was the first time Leliana actually admitted to herself that she wanted the Warden that badly.

Leliana finished her thought calmly, "Perhaps it's time you stop projecting your own troubles on someone else." Morrigan did not register the coup de grace and simply lazily shifted her gaze elsewhere, projecting an air of bored disinterest once more. Leliana turned just in time to see the Warden eyeing her curiously. She froze. _How much of that did he hear? _But he did not press the issue and simply continued about their business, the agenda for the day including a trip the Pearl brothel and clearing out some dangerous alley thugs.

As the day waned on, Leliana grew more and more angry. She hated that Morrigan was able to get under her skin and make her doubt herself. _What if she's right?_ Leliana was not the sort to constantly fret and fidget over her appearance, and even less the sort to pine for a man like a simpering maiden. But the seeds of doubt had been planted, making Leliana wonder if he shared her interest or if she were fooling herself. Her anger had danced back and forth between being directed at Morrigan for her cruel words and herself for allowing this woman to rattle her.

Leliana sighed at the memory, remembering how immature she was just a few short months ago. The Warden's journal entry on the encounter warmed her considerably. It was dog-eared and well-worn, a memory the Warden had sought to return to often.

* * *

><p><em>Denerim 2:27, 9:31 Dragon<br>Returned to Denerim following our harrowing trip through the Deep Roads. Thankfully the bustle of the city is so great and the threat of civil war so near that the guards within the city are stretched to their limits. They do not register a small cadre of armed apostates, killers and Grey Wardens sneaking around subverting Ferelden. We had one close call with an underground Grey Warden support group that turned out to be a trap, but thankfully they were ill-prepared for my team._

_My favorite part of visiting new places is living vicariously through my companions. Each of them sees the world so differently from the rest and overhearing their exchanges is one of my favorite delights. _

_Not all exchanges are positive, though. Today as I was updating our packs with more poultices and lyrium reserves, the witch and the bard got into it. About me. _

_I had always found Morrigan's flirtations to be harmless. I assumed it was a natural condition for her, as she is such a profoundly beautiful creature. _

* * *

><p>Leliana gritted her teeth, but continued.<p>

* * *

><p><em>However, my heart hardened after Iona and I vowed to never again be distracted from my duty for a tumble. Morrigan was persistent, however, and I should have been more straightforward with spelling out my disinterest.<em>

_After all, she was not the one I wanted._

* * *

><p>Leliana held her breath at this statement.<p>

* * *

><p><em>But I shall get to that. We retired for the night back at the outskirts for camp. I had been seeking an opportunity to speak with Leliana all day, but the time never seemed right. I could tell she was hiding being upset, for her brow occasionally furrowed and her marvelous dinnertime stories were absent. <em>

_I went to Morrigan first while Leliana took the first watch (I did not want Leliana to see me speaking with Morrigan and get a false impression). Morrigan was coy as always, and teased me that my eyes constantly wandered to the bard, an "agreeable sort of woman" for men who revel in "domesticated bliss." She even coldly asked if our dalliance was worthwhile and downplayed my inquiries if she was jealous. She then demanded to know my intentions if I were truly interested in her. I gave myself pause, feeling I owed her enough to appear to consider the choice. But in my mind, there was no choice at all. It had been strange to say aloud "I want Leliana" for the first time, but the words felt at home. Morrigan dismissed me with a wave of her hand and said she was fine to dispense with any further pretense of romance._

_I lay awake in my tent, counting down the minutes for the early even watch shift to end so that I could speak with her when she returned from patrol. I practiced over and over in my mind what I wished to say, which tended to range from the insipid to the stupid. My words were never adequate around her but I could not stand to see her suffer Morrigan's verbal slings and arrows._

* * *

><p>Leliana smiled in relief. She remembered she spent the watch internally debating with herself what to say, and was terrified that the Warden would admit he would rather wade through Morrigan's swamp. When she had seen him leave his tent and approach her, she resolved not to waste another moment in ambiguity.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Her first words to me, bathed in the warm glow of the fire, stopped the beating of my heart. I will never forget them. "I enjoy the nights at camp. The night always seems more peaceful to me, safer." I agreed that I knew what she meant. Night was our only chance to rest from our duty. She continued in her quiet, thoughtful way. "I feel the night grants us a reprieve from the troubles of the day. Silly, isn't it? The darkspawn never sleep, and they lurk in the shadows." Again I agreed, voicing what I had thought seconds earlier. Finally given moments to ourselves to lay down our burdens was anything but silly.<em>

_Her next words then sent my heart racing. "I enjoy those nights when we stand guard together, talking to pass the time in those small hours… Well, I talk and you listen, mostly," she had corrected with a smile. "Sometimes, I succumb and fall asleep, and wake to find you still watchful. And I know you're watching out for me." I could only murmur something inane like "You never have to feel afraid with me." Which was the truth, I would never allow harm to befall her._

_I could scarcely believe when she confessed, "What I am trying to say, is that I trust you. I'm comfortable around you. I know that you will be there when I need you," for it mirrored my thoughts perfectly. _

_She started her next words in such a rush that she nearly tripped over them. "You are our leader, and my friend, and sometimes I think that maybe.. we could be more than that... Maker! Look at me, stumbling over my words like an ill-educated peasant girl. Some bard I am..." She had smiled and shrugged in embarrassment, trying to lighten the mood. I was struck with worry, afraid she was going to take her words back. Part of me needed her to, because I could not, should not, be distracted from my dark path. I decided to give her an out and retreated to complimenting her on how cute she was when she was embarrassed. _

_I saw her familiar spark return, charmingly attributing any flush to her cheeks to being too near the campfire. I admitted that one such as her being interested in me was flattering. She had teased me, acting wounded that I implied her taste was poor, and followed up by a curious string of half-compliments. "Why can't I like you? You're a good person, a great listener, a remarkable warrior. And… you're fairly good-looking. Most of your facial features are in the right place." I had sarcastically commented back about how complimentary she was, which she took in stride._

"_There isn't much more I can say. My feelings have been laid bare: you are very special to me." And there it was. She stood before me, her eyes shimmering pools of light. I considered her words carefully, afraid to answer. Would reciprocating be a betrayal to my vow to stop the Blight? She would be by my side to face it, surely there was no harm? I let the silence carry on a little too long, and I saw her face start to fall. No, I would not live another moment being coy about my intentions. I touched her shoulder and told her what my heart knew ages ago: That I always wanted us to be more than friends._

_I thought she would be happy, but she was so cross! I was stunned by her accusations of poor manners and leading her on. She was right; a true gentleman would have made his intentions clear and I had cultivated the false impression that I cared for the witch. Two mistakes already! I could only sheepishly ask if she still liked me, after all I had put her through._

_She lightly teased me again, declaring my poor communication was the death of chivalry._

_I decided I would not be accused of saying the wrong thing again. She was right, I had been cowardly with my inaction. I won't make that same mistake again._

_I still remember that kiss as though it were a moment ago. I had stepped forward and focused my gaze, daring her to turn away. Her skin was so soft as my hand reached up to hold her face, her lips so inviting in the moonlight. I still remember her surprised expression which quickly softened as she tilted to meet me and her arm wrapped around my neck. _

_It was, in one word, heavenly. _

_When we finished I saw a blush spread across her cheeks. But not with embarrassment this time. She quietly said that settled it then._

_I could not help but breath into her ear, "And you are not a skinny boy with ragged hair. You are beautiful, and the best thing that has ever happened to me." I saw she was taken aback, probably upset that I had been eavesdropping. But it was worth the faux pas to see her confidence return and understand that the witch's otherworldly outer-beauty was incomparable to Leliana as a whole. There was no one part of her that sent my heart racing. It was her entire person, her smile coupled with her kind eyes, sweet Orlesian inflections, porcelain skin, grace in battle, firm beliefs and strength of character that drew me in and left me breathless. _

_I don't know if what we have will last. But if my end is to be at any moment, I wish to face it regretting nothing._

* * *

><p>Leliana sighed wistfully. Had their love been doomed from the start? She didn't realize he had carried such a fatalistic viewpoint on his shoulders. He hid so much from her and the rest of the companions, determined to maintain a strong, unwavering façade.<p>

As she turned the pages, a loose sheet of parchment slipped into her lap. She unfolded the paper and her breath caught in her throat.

It was an incredible likeness. During one of the times she had mentioned falling asleep, he had used the opportunity to preserve her on paper to keep forever. This Leliana was reclined along a tree trunk, her bow resting under her fingers. Her hair draped over her face and there was a faint attempt in the brushstrokes to capture the lighting of the campfire as it danced over her curves.

The deep creases and crinkled texture indicated he had revisited the sketch very often. She held it to her lips, and her nose detected his familiar scent: a mixture of sweat, metal and a light antiseptic musk from the constant presence of poultices and healing herbs. He must have kept the drawing on his person during their battles. Suddenly a drop of moisture appeared on the page, smudging the delicate ink lines. Leliana had to pull the paper away to keep her tears from damaging the drawing further.

The drawing was dated in the winter, only a month after she had joined the group. He had kept her close all this time. And she would keep him close forever.

* * *

><p><strong>Ren's Note:<strong>

_This is something I illustrated. Yes yes, writing is all about painting a picture with words. Or I could just paint a freaking picture. Please see the **PROJECT UPDATES** section of my profile for the link.  
><em>


	8. Entry 5: Lost Subtlety

**Ren's Note:**

_Some hybrid events taking place. It drove me crazy that Leliana's Song doesn't match up with the story Leliana tells during Origins. I decided to keep the Origins version mostly intact with a sprinkling of the DLC events for color, plus I tweaked the setup for Leliana's loyalty mission a little and hinted at her role in Dragon Age 2.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Bannorn 3:19, 9:31 Dragon<br>"It's Marjolaine. It has to be."_

_Such a mysterious phrase has never before chilled me so._

_Things had been going well for us, Leliana and me, though in a strange, fragile sort of way. After our mutual admission several weeks ago it was difficult to settle into a comfortable routine, particularly to avoid prying conversations from our companions. Unfortunately, they all seemed to notice the change in tone between the bard and me, and could not help inserting their opinions._

* * *

><p><em>You can say that again,<em> Leliana recalled irritably. While she found herself growing more and more intimate with the Warden, her Chantry vows were not far enough behind to simply hop into bed with him. She also agreed with "fragile" as a good way to describe their curious relationship at that point. There was respect. There was attraction. There was tenderness. But there was no momentum. Both held such a cautious view of the future that neither could get past blushing glances and errant touches. There was an almost childish naïveté between her and the Warden. It was sweet, but frustratingly slow.

The Warden had enough rank amongst the group that he did not have to deal with the constant nosey jabs of their companions. Alistair had been the first to poke at Leliana, with his trademark dry bluntness.

"So, this thing you and him have going: doesn't that violate your vows?" Leliana had been setting up her tent and was so surprised the entire framework collapsed. "What? What sort of question is that to just blurt out?" She attempted to play innocent, implying she did not know what "what we have going" could refer to.

He had rolled his eyes in response, tilting his head skeptically. "...yes, I'm _that_ blind. I so totally did not see you ogling each other before." Instead of answering the question, Leliana had found herself pleased by the implication. _He ogles me? Does he really?_ Alistair had teased back that he might have to ask the Warden where he stood on ogling Leliana, which embarrassed her terribly, but again intrigued her. Alistair gave up after that, not wanting to be the intermediary for their childish romance. _How inappropriate,_ Leliana remembered with a sigh.

Zevran had been more forthright, but then again he had spent many conversations mocking Leliana about the Chantry, her visions, and everything else about her he could think of. He had casually sidled up beside her during their travels across the Bannorn and asked her directly about how sexually pent-up she was. "That is a very personal question," she had finally settled on after he continued to pursue the topic. "I mean no offense. I simply offer my services should you ever feel the need for …release," he had countered with a lascivious smirk. He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips flirtatiously. Leliana sighed, knowing only one response that would shut him up but would effectively out their secret. She had smiled thinly and batted her eyelashes at Zevran.

"That's very kind of you. Perhaps I should speak to the Grey Warden on advice on whether or not to accept your offer?" Zevran had backed off, glanced at the Warden's back and shook his head with a sigh. "Adventure has changed you, Leliana." "For the better, I hope."

* * *

><p><em>Wynne had approached me in camp, accusing me of being distracted from my duties. She also proposed scenarios where the greater good was at risk because of my selfish desire to love and be loved. I took her words to heart, though it pained me to distance myself from Leliana. I tried to start slowly, citing being occupied by the darkspawn and the heavy duties of planning our next initiative to recruiting the Dalish elves to our cause. Just as I was feeling myself slipping from her intoxicating presence, the assassins came.<em>

_They came for her, rather. A mixed group of Qunari mercenaries, archers, even a powerful apostate witch in their midst. It was a difficult battle, but we were victorious. The assassin leader begged for mercy, which I admit always puts me in a difficult position. Morrigan constantly chides my mercy as a weakness, highlighting our new companion Zevran, an Antivan Crow paid to dispatch Alistair and me, as a prime example. But I refuse to be so careless with people's lives. If I had been offered mercy for my family, for Highever, I would have begged for it. Died for it. But it never came. It is my foolish hope that a person with another opportunity at life will cherish it as I would have._

"_We were just told to kill the little red-haired girl and do what we pleased with the rest. Our contact is in Denerim, that's all I know, I swear it!" Knowing Leliana was their target stopped my heart a moment. She had been curiously silent and after the assassin fled I took her aside for an explanation while Zevran and Wynne trekked ahead back to camp._

_"It's Marjolaine. It has to be." She quickly walked in front of me, then abruptly turned around to stop me. I waited for her to continue, sensing this required listening rather than discussing. _

"_I lied to you about why I left Orlais." And there it was... I knew to expect perfection was childish, but it still saddened me. But I quickly forgot my own petty anger at being lied to once she poured out the harrowing details of her life before the Chantry in Lothering. _

_Her colorful escapades as a bard did not simply net her with skills in blade and bow. She was a practiced deceiver at the beck and call of the spoiled nobility of the Orlesian court, often requiring seduction and assassination on top of simple theft and misdirection. Even more, she did not even consider her actions (at the time) as evil. It was all part of an elaborate Game and she was just a piece in the shadows. Her moves were guided by her bardmaster and lover, Marjolaine._

_I was stilled a moment with the knowledge that her previous lover was a woman, as well as the long series of notches on her bedpost from her (male and female) targets, for a curious insecurity hit my stomach. I could not stop myself from petty wonderings of how (and if!) I would compare as a lover after all she had been through. But that is a worry for another time._

_This Marjolaine had hurt Leliana deeply._

* * *

><p><em>Another understatement<em>, Leliana sighed. Marjolaine had once been everything to her. Her skill and charisma had been intoxicating, and nothing pleased Leliana more than serving her. It had felt like being a child again, desperate to please and even the slightest acknowledgements and treats could send Leliana into euphoria for days. Marjolaine had also been a very hands-on instructor to teach Leliana the most effective seduction methods on certain prey. Leliana had once ached for her touch and felt such pleasure at being Marjolaine's favorite.

_Favorite toy,_ she thought bitterly.

* * *

><p><em>It seems that a particular target that Leliana had hunted down in service to Marjolaine held Orlesian secrets. The bard-master had a side business selling information to Orlais's enemies and Leliana had intercepted incriminating evidence. Her outspoken desire to shield Marjolaine from harm apparently backed the woman into a corner, and the bard-master set the dogs on Leliana to take the fall for her actions (even going so far as to stab Leliana to weaken her against fleeing).<em>

_I could not even breathe as Leliana described the torture she had to endure at the chevaliers' hands. Her voice had dropped to a pained whisper as she confessed to me the hopeless despair that had washed over her at the cruel mercy of whip and brand, on top of the knowledge that someone she had loved so deeply had betrayed her. I had noticed crisscrossed patterns on the creamy skin of her back and arms when she removes her armor at the comfort of camp, but had never been brave enough to ask where she had received such marks. I desperately wanted to reach out and embrace her, but it felt like a violation. _

_If I cannot soothe with words, I will soothe with actions. We will find this Marjolaine and I will cut her throat myself._

* * *

><p>Leliana had been grateful the Warden was willing to divert his focus from the Brecilian Forest to follow up on the assassin's lead in the Denerim market. The information had been true, and Marjolaine herself was lying in wait.<p>

The confrontation had been a heavy one. Leliana had been fearful to face her again, but the Warden stood as a shield at her side. Marjolaine had tried to twist the truth and warp the Warden's loyalty against her, but Leliana was relieved he had been adamant in his support. He had looked to her on how to proceed, either for vengeance or retreat. Leliana refused to live another moment in fear of her bard-master and reveled in her defeat.

It wasn't until she was struck by silence (marred by exerted breathing) that Leliana realized they had won._ I'm free. I do not have to hide anymore._ But instead of feeling light, a weight dropped on her.

* * *

><p><em>Denerim 3:25, 9:31 Dragon<em>

_I thought she would be happy once her bard-master was dead, but Leliana was more distraught than ever. She would not speak to me for days and regarded my attempts at friendly touch as though it burned her. I desperately wanted to return the comfort she had so easily shown me, I just didn't know how to reach her. I finally withdrew, praying that she would seek me out once her thoughts had gathered._

_We finally spoke early this morning before the rest of the companions awoke. She admitted her conflict between joy and anger at Marjolaine's death._

"_What if she's right? What if we're the same?" She had whispered, and I wanted nothing more than to hold her cheek to my chest and somehow absorb her pain into me so that she would be light and free again. _

_It was a pain I understood. All she had dreamed of once was to be like this woman she idolized and it had all been ripped away. She had retreated to the Chantry to save her soul but was terrified that her soul was beyond saving and that the Hunt was her only true joy. I found myself in a strange position, for she seemed eager to be molded by my words into either the priestess or the assassin._

_A grave responsibility indeed, to shape a person's life with mere discussion. Leliana's resolute faith had always been tedious for me, for mine had burned to ash with my home. I was angry at the Maker for all that happened and only paid lip service out of respect. With a simple word, I could turn her from book and bell to wholly mine. She had been so fragile in the firelight, torn between the life she had left and the life she had run to._

_No._

_I will not dissolve her faith just because I do not agree with it. Her happiness should mean more to me than my own. She found peace once, she deserves to find that peace again on her own terms. Besides, her faith brought her to my side and I owe it to her, and… maybe even the Maker… to help her stay on her path. Even if the result after this battle has ended she finalizes her vows to wholly devote herself to the Chantry._

_She had stood by me despite the chance that I could be swept away by darkspawn at any moment. I shall stand by her should she be swept away to the Maker's light in a nunnery._

* * *

><p>Leliana chewed on her knuckle a moment. He hadn't been wrong. Already Leliana had received a summons to Val Royeaux to meet with the Grand Cleric about service to the Chantry. Her correspondence with Dorothea, the woman responsible for Leliana seeking Chantry refuge, hinted at rumors about expanding the Chantry's Seekers into more ambitious tasks.<p>

His reassurances about evil not worrying about being good had done wonders. Leliana's sunny disposition had returned after only a few days of brooding. But while she was certain of her path again, she tired of the continued ambiguity of their relationship. Not afraid of the future any longer, Leliana resolved to prepare an invitation neither of them would ever forget.

It had taken another week for the evening watch schedule to fall in such a way to give them both an evening's respite from protecting the camp. She had been fluttery and nervous all day, so eager to talk to him but not wanting to appear desperate. She was also a little worried and annoyed that he did not seem interested in bedding her. _Only one way to find out,_ she thought with a smile.

He had approached her just after supper, a full smile on his face after some delicious cuisine from Zevran. Their idle chitchat shifted to Marjolaine once more. She assured him she was on the right path, but couldn't help but look back on their time together fondly. "She was special to you, wasn't she?" he had wondered. Leliana smiled sadly, pleased that she was moving past fearing then mourning her former lover. His kindness wrapped around Leliana, consoling her that Marjolaine didn't deserve her and that he could only wish to be as special as Marjolaine had been.

"My dearest one, that day has already come and gone. I do not regret leaving Orlais. I do no regret any of the pain, the anger, the loneliness… Because it brought me to you." The words tumbled out, but she found she meant their spontaneity. She then nervously admitted, "And I …love you." He responded by smiling radiantly back at her and reaching out to take her hand.

His affection emboldened her to segue into the conversation she had prepared all day. "It has been sometime since I left Lothering. When I stepped out of the cloister, I had no idea where my path would lead." He chuckled lightly, agreeing that he, too, had no idea. "I walked where the Maker led me, and He has rewarded me for my faith: I found you." The Warden looked amused and teased her back about the Maker being a matchmaker. Leliana wasn't going to let him get away with deflecting, however. "The Maker wants his children to be happy. Would he have created in us the capacity for love if he did not intend for us to find it?"

Leliana found the world around her got a little hazier with his response: "Then I thank the Maker for bringing us together." It had simultaneously frightened and elated. She had choked out a whisper that "You have no idea how it makes me feel to hear you say that." _Did he?_ He said it so quietly, as though it were a simple thing. But his gaze was unmistakable and simultaneously saw inside her and through her. The heat of it caused her resolve to falter, and instead of being straightforward she settled on a more oblique hint that she was eager to retire to her soft, warm bedroll.

He had maddeningly feigned hurt, wondering why she didn't want to talk to him anymore. She had pressed the hint again, hoping for a better response. "You know I enjoy your company. But it's getting a little chilly and I'd prefer to be in my bedroll," followed by a suggestive stroke along his hand. Again, he failed to comprehend and took a step back saying he should probably go write in his journal. Leliana was still determined and tried to keep the conversation from ending by asking what he wrote about. His vague response about today needing a special entry was the last straw.

_Fine, if that's the way he wants it._ She spoke slowly, trying to mask the frustrated anger in her voice. "Maybe you could bring it to my tent and I could watch you write. I could give suggestions: 'Dear Journal, Leliana has shown much affection for me. Even asked me to come to bed with her, but alas, subtlety is lost on me.'" She paused a moment for the words to sink in, and was satisfied to see the dawning realization. _Maker's Breath, that was far more difficult than it should have been._

To her surprise, he admitted he understood her proposition but didn't think they should. Her heart fell. She took a step back and almost staggered. _He doesn't want me…_ "You don't… want to… are you sure?" She felt heat spread across her cheeks in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to retreat into her tent to hug Schmooples.

The Warden surprised her further by closing the gap to place his hands on her arms. "It's not that I don't want to. But …I would prefer to wait until the darkspawn have been routed." He was genuinely apologetic and Leliana felt him squeeze her biceps reassuringly. "You're putting your life on hold because of darkspawn? I suppose you are a Grey Warden and that is what is required of you…" Leliana suddenly felt ashamed. She had heard enough romance tales of Chantry sisters being tempted from the Maker to stray from their vows, and here she was, a villain in her own story, tempting her Warden from his impossible duty.

She was suddenly humbled by how difficult it must have been to say no, and resolved to be more understanding. _I can wait. …I will wait, because I know he's worth it._ "I.. do not have the right to make demands on you. Duty must come first. I love you and I will wait for you as long as you want." The smile he returned was so warm it made her rejection seem almost worthwhile. She tried to end the conversation with some levity.

"Now I have even more incentive to kill all those hideous monsters."

He had left her with a lingering kiss which, while not rewarding enough to warm her bed for the night, was still sufficient to give her renewed hope. His entry on the evening was so impassioned as to be illegible; large portions were scratched out, to be amended with notes in the margins which were again scratched out. Leliana could barely make out anything other than 5 lines of messy, desperate scrawl.

* * *

><p><em>I'm an idiot<br>I'm an idiot  
>I'm an idiot<br>I'm an idiot  
>I'm an idiot<em>


	9. Entry 6: In Peace, Vigilance

_I guess I should get up,_ Leliana thought with a sigh. _We have a long day ahead of us. _But she couldn't bring herself to leave her Warden's side just yet, even though the first shimmers of morning light were peeking through the forest. She settled back down in the furs of her, their, bedroll and propped her head up on her elbow so she could study his sleeping form.

They were like butterflies, those long, pretty eyelashes of his. They weren't the only part of him that was pretty, Leliana had discovered (with a fond sigh). The dimming embers of their private campfire threw orange light over his messy auburn hair and stubble while he peacefully slept. He stretched out haphazardly and Leliana's blanket wasn't quite enough to cover his wider, taller frame.

Leliana had a permanent smile holding the corners of her mouth firmly in place and couldn't help but stretch out her left hand to run her slender fingers over the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The muscles in his neck and torso were well-defined and toned, familiar with carrying the burden of heavy plate armor, but were smooth to her exploring fingers. She traced her fingertips over fading scars and bruises and couldn't help but wince empathetically as she thought of all the battles he had faced to earn them.

Several puckered wounds along his left thigh and abdomen she knew were the work of wild sylvan barbs, Keeper Zathrian's last attempt to coerce the death of the Lady of the Forest out of the Warden. His neck had rakish claw marks, a gift from the werewolves that had prowled the Brecilian Forest before peace was brokered. Bruises lined his upper left arm as warning signs his shield had failed to protect and enemy blows were railing against the heavy plate armoring. His other blemishes she was less certain of their perpetrators: faded bruises on his ribs _(a charging werewolf or ogre, maybe?),_ round raised scars from old and fresh arrows, the trademark pebbled flesh of fire spell burns, and an array of ordinary scratches from a rambunctious childhood turned white with time.

She had to resist the urge to allow her fingers to roam over the curves and ridges she had spent most of the night memorizing during repeated sessions of passion. A peaceful night's sleep was now a luxury after their safety had been breached by darkspawn. She had paused to reflect how they had gotten to this point, when only a few weeks prior he had walked away from the prospect of an intimate relationship.

He had been steadfast in his resolve. While they continued to share private thoughts and fears and more than a few stolen kisses, the Warden backed away when a kiss grew too deep or an embrace too fervent. Always with a mumbled "I'm sorry, I can't," a phrase Leliana both hated and admired.

* * *

><p><em>Bannorn 6:3, 9:31 Dragon<br>Tonight everything changed. _

_We had just broken camp in the middle of the Bannorn. We had to take a more northern route away from the Imperial Highway for the darkspawn hordes have overtaken Lothering and the Wilds borders are full of danger. We are finally flush with allies all ready to serve the call of the Grey Warden treaties. Only Arl Eamon remains, and if the rumors are true, Redcliffe is in dire straights and the Arl himself gravely ill._

_The watch established, I had retired to my tent after dinner. My recovery from the Dalish encounter was still underway, but I could no longer sit idly in Keeper Lanaya's camp nursing my wounds after 3 long weeks. I fell quickly into sleep that was more and more restless over the weeks, part the result of worry and part the lingering ache that I would spend another night alone. Leliana has continued to kindly accept my refusal with high spirits, always greeting me with a cheerful "Well, aren't you sweet and attentive!" when I visit her tent. The pull to see her is intoxicating as I am bathed in the glow of her sweetness and hope._

_Her confidence in me has never wavered and inspires me to greater and greater heights. It is a curious thing, wanting and hoping to be a better man. And not simply because duty to the Grey Wardens or honor for my family dictates I should, just for example's sake. She has some sort of magic to soothe me with just a look or ease my burdens with a touch that I am gripped with an irrationally possessive mood to keep her close and never let go._

_But thoughts of her did not invade my dreams this night (as they often did, much to my constant ache). It was another nightmare of the Archdemon: gathering armies in the Deep Roads and Korcari Wilds, seeing the world dip and tumble through the eyes of the monstrous dragon, a roar…_

_And then the roar was real. I was awoken to shouts from Alistair, and I felt the nausea hit me: darkspawn were close. It was a cruel affliction to be made ill by the very thing that saves my life daily. I only had time to run out with sword and shield (without armor) before the sharlocks descended on the camp. Their ear-splitting shrieks nearly stopped me in my tracks, but I managed to muster the courage for a rallying cry to bring my companions to me. Fortunately, we had the advantage of numbers (whereas in normal travels we divide up the group to cover more ground) and overcame their ambush._

_Though no one was injured (even without padding I managed to parry their jagged, poisonous blades) the damage was done: the sanctity of our camp had been broken. Even Morrigan hovered by the communal fire, uncertain about being so distant from the safety of the group. No one bothered going to sleep after the carcasses were disposed of and more than a few eyes were glazed over with worry and uncertainty._

_It was Leliana who broke the silence. We had sat by the fire, side by side, when she spoke. She had been thinking back to when her mother died where a kind elven woman comforted her in her time of darkness. An appropriate reference, considering our days spent amongst the Dalish elves.  
><em>

"_We shouldn't fear death or hate it," she said. "Death is just another beginning. One day, we must all shed our earthly bodies to allow our spirits to fly free. It is a beautiful sentiment, one that brings peace and hope." _

_She had picked her up her lute and strummed a test chord then launched into a song, the likes of which I had never heard. She walked around the campfire some, making eye contact with the rest of our companions who were also hypnotized by her impromptu performance._

_Her silhouette in the firelight is burned into my memory. She was partially armored, leftover from the skirmish, but helmet, gauntlets and bow were missing. The careful sections of braid that layered her bright red hair were messy, undone. There was a blush to her cheek from the fading adrenaline of battle and her porcelain skin seemed both dulled and brightened by the fire._

_I wish I knew the words that settled my soul so. It simultaneously strengthened and weakened my resolve, much like my reaction to the bard herself. Even after the song was done, I could still feel her soprano reverberate within me, as though echoed across the Fade. _

* * *

><p>Leliana smiled and took out her quill. Though she felt strange about writing in someone else's, <em>his,<em> journal, she knew that he would somehow feel these words and understand. _Wherever he may be._

In the margin, her neat hand offered the lyrics:

_Hahren na melana sahlin / Elder your time is come  
>Emma ir abelas  Now I am filled with sorrow  
>Souver'inan isala hamin  Weary eyes need resting  
>Vhenan him dor'felas  Heart has become grey and slow  
>In Uthenera na revas  In waking sleep is freedom_

_Vir sulahn'nehn / We sing, rejoice_  
><em>Vir dirthera  We tell the tales_  
><em>Vir samahl la numin  We laugh and cry_  
><em>Vir lath sa'vunin  We love one more day_

* * *

><p><em>She had favored me with a kind smile before retiring for the night. My eyes lingered at the opening of her tent for some time. My thoughts were broken by Alistair clearing his throat from his position at the watch. He did not speak, but merely sent me a withering look and gave a single, emphatic nod towards Leliana's tent. I did not need to be told what he meant. <em>

"_Go to her, already."  
><em>

_I had hesitated enough. No longer. I found her kneeling in the corner of her tent, wrapping her lute in burlap and twine to protect it from travel damage. She stood upon hearing my entrance and met my eyes with such an intensity and longing to set my heart racing. She started to drop her gaze to return to modesty once more, but I closed the gap to pull her to me and join her lips to mine. _

_When we paused a moment to catch our breath, she whispered tentatively, "You… want to—are you sure?" After I nodded she continued, beaming with an almost child-like enthusiasm. "I knew you'd come around. Good things come to those who wait, no?" I felt a flush hit my cheeks as I held her delicate face in my hands for the first time, knowing what was to come. She trailed off with "I'm sure the wait will be worthwhile…"_

_What followed was a dance to which we both knew the steps very well, but to hear each other's music was a sensation I cannot fully describe. To undress her for the first time, to see her curves and peaks and valleys before me ready to be explored… I ache still. She allowed me such free reign, her fervor matching mine in intensity. I relished my opportunity to tease giggles, breaths and moans from her canvas of flesh, until finally uniting as one at a fever pitch. I mildly regret not pacing myself more during our first, to fully reward her patience at my reticence. But she whispered breathless reassurances in my ear before we resumed using the night's adrenaline rush to our advantage, again and again._

_She playfully offered to knead the stress from my weary shoulders and I was happy to comply. Pinned beneath her, she reveled in her advantage and alternated between relieving my tensions with nimble fingers and ticklish kisses. When I finally could take no more of her soft torture, I rolled over so I could return her light touch with caresses of my own. _

_To see her atop me, hair tangled and cheeks flushed, alternating between leaning down for kisses and arching away to make love…I would have gladly walked into the depths of the Deep Roads to my Calling at the morrow, just to know I had her, as she had me. _

_Completely._

* * *

><p>Leliana remembered she started to pull her fingers back from their wanderings when she felt him stir awake, but decided to playfully stroke his cheek to coax those warm blue eyes open. She was quickly rewarded. "Good morning," he mumbled with a sleepy smile. "Did you sleep well?"<p>

Leliana returned his smile. "I've been up for some time. But yes, I slept very well. I was just watching _you _sleep," she paused significantly. He rolled up to his left side, comfortably propped up with an elbow. Amusement played across his features as he carefully regarded her. She felt a flutter as his eyes swept over her, and his smile deepened with his appraisal.

"I'm so happy, blissful," she sighed. "I haven't slept so well since I was forced to flee from Orlais." He reached a hand up to envelope hers at his cheek. Her voice was thick with emotion as she continued, "I feel safe in your arms. Safe, loved and accepted. This is where I belong. Thank you."

He romantically pulled her hand to his lips to kiss the knuckle and playfully added, "I should be the one thanking _you_." He wiggled his eyebrows in a dramatic fashion, prompting a giggle from Leliana. She regretfully pulled her hand away to gesture to the tent flap and the brightening sky beyond. "We should get up. We have a long day ahead of us and darkspawn await with baited breath for you to put them out of their misery."

He sat up and reached out to pull her to his lap. She reflexively wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. The Warden leaned forward to kiss her brow, then pulled back to whisper with a mischievous grin. "And ignore the beautiful woman in my bed?"

"What are you—ohh, I _see_," Leliana cooed flirtatiously. "Well, perhaps the darkspawn will just have to wait a bit longer."

* * *

><p><strong>Ren's note:<strong>

_Thanks to mrflibblesthecat on youtube for posting the lyrics to Leliana's elven song._


	10. Entry 7: In War, Victory

**Ren's Note:**

_I stumbled across the whole Fort Drakon capture quite by accident; I was getting my ass handed to me by Ser Cauthrien and on a reload I accidentally selected the surrender option. I always found it absurd that she would arrest JUST the Grey Warden(s) while everyone else, including the queen, was free to leave (even if you ratted Anora out then got double-crossed). This is my alternate take on it if Cauthrien ISN'T a total moron who captures the whole team (but Anora is not betrayed so she escapes with Erlina) and Fort Drakon is employed by people loyal to Arl Howe and Loghain. And don't forget the angst. Lots of angst._

* * *

><p>Fort Drakon was a haunted memory for Leliana, and not only because it was the site of her Warden's defeat. They had actually been imprisoned there shortly before the Landsmeet at the behest of Teryn Loghain while trying to rescue the Queen from Arl Howe's hands.<p>

They were overwhelmed at Howe's gates and put into shackles while the Queen and her maidservant slipped out a side entrance. She remembered being stripped of her bow, arrows and clothing, then thrown into a cell with Wynne while the Warden and Alistair had been tossed into an adjoining cell.

While they were confident their companions would stage a rescue, the time had come for torture; an Arl had been slain and his loyal men thirsted for vengeance, as did Teryn Loghain. But then a strange thing happened.

When the guards came to bring everyone to the torture chamber, the Warden lashed out. He actively fought Alistair, punching and kicking him. His words were ripe with disgust. "Damn you, bastard prince! When I tell you to watch the door, you watch the damn door! This is all your fault! You think Duncan is here to kiss it and make it better? I've seen mewling children braver than you!"

He held Alistair by the throat and then slammed up against the cell walls and struck out Wynne and Leliana, calling the women old fools and stupid girls, respectively. "If I have to hear one more self-righteous lecture or ridiculous melody, I'm going to slit your throats myself! I never needed a second mother to nag me as though I had trouble walking. Nor a bedmate as preachy and frigid as you. Your Maker didn't find the time to save my family or stop the Blight, did He? Then just SHUT UP!" He had snarled and darted a clawed hand through the bars, forcing Leliana and Wynne to retreat in stunned silence just out of reach.

The guards had fought to drag him to the adjoining torture chamber below, and immediately set him to howling. One guard stood at the top of the stairs, laughing. "'ey boys, leave 'im conscious. We should just drop 'im back in 'is cell and let 'is mates finish the job!" The Warden shouted angrily, daring them to try it, and was answered by raucous laughter from the other guards. "This'll take the fight outta you, traitor," the companions heard, followed by screams of agony from the Warden.

Alistair rubbed his bruised jaw, incredulous at what had transpired. "Can you believe that? I thought we were friends..." He sat down mournfully, not understanding why his friend had turned on him.

Leliana had been similarly stunned, rooted to the spot by his uncharacteristically cruel words. His words had truth to them, had he been thinking them all along? Had she just been an idle past time he had barely tolerated? Just a tumble to warm his bed at night?

Wynne was quiet, wincing as she heard the Warden's screams of pain. Alistair continued to mutter, a torrent of defensive quips and disbelieving remarks. Wynne held up her hand to ask for silence, but Alistair was too engrossed in his moping, so she strode to the adjoining wall of bars and slapped Alistair in the back of the head.

"That lying, double-talking snake. He's been hanging out with Morrigan too much, that deceitful bitch—HEY! What's gotten into you? Don't you start on me!" Alistair squawked in protest.

"Look around," Wynne said cryptically. "Yes, Wynne. We're in a dungeon. Are your eyes starting to fail? I heard they were the first to go—" "No, Alistair. LOOK. What do you see?"

Alistair stared at her, not getting the joke. Leliana was similarly confused by Wynne's question.

"Ummm, all right then. I'll play along. I see… Bars. Guards. A bucket I suspect they want us to pee in. Blech, I wonder when that was last cleaned. The maid service in this place is just—"

Wynne interrupted with a cross "Alistair." Leliana stood up. "What are you talking about, Wynne?"

"More importantly, what DON'T you see?" Wynne waved her hand around them.

"Has the confinement gotten to you, old girl? Because I really don't—" It was Leliana who answered. "He's not here."

"And where is he?" Wynne asked patiently. Alistair looked back and forth between the two women, still not understanding. Wynne sighed at them both, gesturing around the cell once more.

"Don't you see? He said those terrible things to distract. We should be thinking of a way to escape, and use the time he has bought us well."

They passed the hours in silence, unable to shield their ears from his cries of pain. It had taken a great deal longer to devise an escape plan, for the Warden was the usual catalyst for battle strategy. They took turns quietly monitoring the comings-and-goings of their keepers, and overheard details regarding the guard shift changes. But they wouldn't leave without the Warden.

His screams had gone silent finally, and the guards started to stir. Two of them stumbled back into view at the top of the stairwell, dragging the limp body of the Warden between them.

"Couldn't handle that line o' questionin', could 'e?" The larger one asked with a laugh. The shorter guard approached the cell doors, rattling his keys and tapping the bars menacingly with his club. "You stay back now, ya royal bastard, or I'll crown ya face with me club." He paused a moment at the door, but Alistair simply held up his hands and sat innocently in the corner.

The larger guard tossed the Warden's unconscious form into the cell face-first and slammed the door shut, waiting eagerly. "Don't you fellas have some catching up to do?"

Wynne muttered, "Go, Alistair." "But—" "You must, otherwise they'll think something is amiss." Alistair sighed, strode over, and kicked at the Warden with his bare foot. The Warden's body rolled of its own accord, but he didn't open his eyes. Alistair started kicking harder, shouting obscenities with his rage. "Mewling child? Little bastard? Always thought you knew better, did you? I told you we couldn't trust that bitch! But no one listens to Alistair! You treat me like a stupid child, when I've been a Grey Warden longer than you, you son of a bitch!"

The moment the guards exited the room (cackling with glee), Alistair stopped and bent to check on the Warden. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Are you awake?"

A faint croak could be heard. "I have an older brother. You kick like a child, Alistair." The Warden smiled faintly through his battered face. Alistair rolled him to a sitting position and dragged him over to Wynne to inspect.

It was bad. A number of scars had developed during his travels, mostly from removing arrows that found their way between plate, plus old scratches from boyhood tussles and tournaments. But this torture was far worse.

The Warden's nose was broken and had dark bruises around his eyes and brows, and even more purple ringed bruises speckled the rest of his body. His hair was wet with blood and angry red lines snaked over his chest and thighs. Flesh on his forearm had been peeled back with knives. Burns bubbled on his feet, the result of torches and hot irons sizzling into sensitive skin. His biceps were branded with boot prints where he had attempted to protect his head from kicks. All capped with whips raking his back and legs.

That he was still awake at all was a miraculous feat. Wynne did her best, but without her staff her magics lacked focus to fully mend. Alistair updated him on the scheme they had concocted: feign illness during the shift change, get the jump on their cell guard, find the armory to retrieve their items, steal some uniforms and stroll out with the remaining guard shift. They had a little over an hour to rest up and prepare.

* * *

><p><em>Outside Fort Drakon 8:20, 9:31 Dragon<br>He is finally dead. Rendon Howe. I cleared out his estate room by room, each strike against his guards bearing the name of a body left to rot in Highever. Nan. Ser Gilmore. Lady Landra. Iona. Oriana. Oren. Father. Mother. The librarian, guards, servants, children. My companions shouted at me for a strategy, but I could not hear them over the blood pounding in my ears._

_My only thought during it all was "Where is he?" The Queen was but a sidenote compared to Howe. The fact he carried the key to her prison was simply a bonus prize to destroying his home in the way he shattered my existence. He even had the arrogance to taunt me with his final breaths. To see his face turn from sniveling sneer to realizing his lifeblood was pouring out before my sword... it simultaneously lifted a great weight only to drop another. Highever is still lost. I cannot recover what I failed to protect those many months ago._

_It was Leliana who roused me from my grieving stupor, wrapping her arms around my neck and accepting my falling tears on her now damp shoulder. Her comforting lips reawakened me to my other purpose. Ferelden still needed its King and Anora's safety would ensure loyalty. _

_I had been foolish to think our storming of the Howe estate would go unnoticed by Loghain. We were ambushed by his commander, Ser Cauthrien, and two score of her men. Rather than risk the safety of the Queen for pride, I admitted surrender so that she, in her guard disguise, and her maid could retreat to safety._

_I honestly believed I would die in Fort Drakon, in an unmarked grave where my companions believed I always hated them. I begged and pleaded and lied and swore and cried under pain I scarcely believed could exist in one moment, let alone hour after hour. When I shut my eyes, I prayed the last thing I saw when they reopened for a final time would be her sweet face, but it was always the hateful leer of the torturer. I could finally bear no more and feigned unconsciousness just to make it all stop._

_It was satisfying to simply walk out the front door of that miserable place. Alistair had pounced on our foolish watchman, stripped him of his uniform and located extras for Leliana, Wynne and me to don. My injuries required heavy assistance as walking was excruciating. _

_Following our escape from capture, we retreated to the treeline outside Denerim rather than return to Arl Eamon's estate immediately. It was a clear night to rest under the stars. Wynne had devoted the evening to healing me while Alistair brewed one of his trademark stews. I still felt the ghost of the lash upon my flesh, and spent much of the waning daylight hours in a feverish sweat accompanied by nightmarish flashes._

_It wasn't til the morn that I felt strong enough to mend my relationship with my companions. Wynne had dismissed my attempts at apologies with a "Tch" and a wave. She had understood my ploy straightaway and admired my fortitude. Alistair had been forgiving as well. He rubbed his jaw and administered a quick sideways hug and bow. He was embarrassed that he had doubted me but admitted he had never had a more loyal friend and brother-in-arms. We're both lucky Wardens._

_I approached Leliana with such fear. The words I had said in the prison had been especially harsh and cruel to her. I was so frantic that the guards wouldn't be distracted by my rage that I said truly despicable things. And her reaction was that I had physically struck her. Never will I be able to erase her betrayed expression from my mind, and I can only hope to begin to seek her forgiveness. _

_I found her sitting at the bank of the Drakon River, her arms wrapped around her knees. I had limped over and sat next to her, unable to speak for only she could still my words with a look. But I had to try._

_"About—About what I said earlier… In the cell… I didn't—I was just trying…" She wouldn't look at me, only gazed absently at the bubbling water. …I had done it. Ruined us. But, I couldn't just leave it at that._

_I had continued, more for myself. "We talked once. About Marjolaine. About how her paranoid life had ruined her. How she sold you out to the chevaliers to save her reputation. Your words haunt me: that someone could know you. Love you. And still hurt you so._

_"When you shared this with me, I knew I would never allow such a thing to happen to you again, while I still breathed. In that cell, when I thought I had a choice between injuring you with words, and see that spark of life in you dimmed by the whip again, I chose to deliver the wound. I told myself I was looking out for you by shielding you, that every blow I sustained would keep you whole. For while you remain whole, as do I." I saw her eyes grow wet with tears and reached out to touch her arm. I dreaded that she might recoil at my touch. _

_Suddenly she was curling up against my chest, burrowing into my light tunic. I winced as her arms wrapped around my torso where the whip had been especially focused, but I didn't care. I could wrap my arms around my sweet bard once more. She did not speak a word, and what followed was one of the most intimate delights of my life._

_I am just happy she is still mine, as I am always hers._

* * *

><p>Leliana closed her eyes, reliving that moment. His promise to protect her had not been an idle throwaway comfort. Her Warden had condemned her with words, and then proceeded to bear torture on her behalf. All so she would not suffer. She had never known such a selfless love and had been determined that her gratitude would not be insufficient.<p>

She had kissed him, exploring his mouth again as though for the first time. She then gently pushed him onto his back and loosened the laces of his tunic with nimble fingers. She knew her lips could not heal his wounds, but she was willing to try.

It had been slow and tense as she carefully tasted his skin. Her lips found every line, every bruise, every injury he had born. She returned to his lips often, always her starting point before continuing her journey downward. His breathing had quickened, the ecstasy of this teasing touch reaching him before she did. She relieved his intensity with her hands at first, then her mouth, eager to repay him with pleasure.

They had clung to the riverbank in the growing sunlight, covering their passion with the first trills of morning birdsong. He had weakened quickly so Leliana had not left him in suspense overlong. Their backs arched once more before collapsing onto the cool grass.

Leliana remembered nestling into the crook of his shoulder and tracing her fingers tenderly over his bare stomach. "So that settles that then," he had whispered teasingly, and she felt his abdomen tighten then jiggle with suppressed laughter. His left arm found its familiar place at her waist while his right hand overlapped hers over his chest, and she fondly remembered hearing him sigh deeply in contentment.

"Yes, I care about you and I'm fond of you, still," she teased back, savoring the vast understatement. They had lain together on the grass, dozing lightly in the familiar comfort of each other's warmth. This journey had tested their trust and devotion, and while they had bent before these trials, neither had broken.

_Soon, it will be over,_ Leliana had thought at the time. _After all this, it will be wonderful to simply be together without the end of the world hanging over us._ Leliana had thanked the Maker for allowing this hope to blossom and above all prayed to keep him safe from further harm.

A prayer that would go unanswered.


	11. Entry 8: In Death, Sacrifice

Leliana flipped through the last pages of the Warden's journal. Only a handful remained with his scrawl followed by several dozen blank pages that would await memories never experienced. Their absence renewed her sadness as she found herself wondering what adventures would have graced those lonely sheets of paper.

_Would we have followed our fortunes together? Would I have given up my wanderings or vows to remain at his side? Married him? Born his children? Allowed him to face a proper Grey Warden death alone in the Deep Roads? Be left, abandoned and alone, with the void of his absence but full of the richness of our shared life together?_

She was again struck with sharp grief, now mourning the future as well as the past. Leliana wanted all those things and more, but instead she was left with only the last one and an all too brief life at that. She continued onward to the Landsmeet, as the countdown to his demise ticked ever closer.

Before she had devoured his introspection with longing. Now she approached his handwriting with dread, knowing it would abruptly cease.

* * *

><p><em>Denerim 9:1, 9:31 Dragon<br>Loghain is dead. Alistair is King. All distractions between us and the Archdemon have finally been removed._

_Anora turned out to be her father's daughter. Before the Landsmeet, I went to her in order to garner support for Alistair (who finally stopped being a prat and started to embrace his lineage and duty. Plus I told him he would look good in a crown.) Anora was desperate to keep her title as Queen, and employed a curious range of tactics. Her disdain of Alistair was palpable and annoyed me to no end as she did not even know him but was content to dismiss him out of hand. She then turned her political machinations on me, switching effortlessly between appealing to my favor with flattery, logic and even anger. When I rebuked her, Anora's last ditch appeal was a surprise._

_A place at her side. King of Ferelden. _

_I was taken aback. For what young boy, noble or peasant, does not dream of being a king? The Couslands would no longer be a dead house of Ferelden, but a new line of royalty for Thedas to respect and fear. I felt my chest puff out a little, seeing in my mind an idealized version of myself sitting upon a throne in gleaming armor and a crown. And at my side …Anora? Not Leliana? The fantasy dissolved quickly at that sobering realization. I would have to marry Anora. Marry another woman._

_I admit I had not thought of marrying Leliana at this point, for marriage always seemed like a complacent topic left to happier times with fewer worries. I did not even know if Grey Wardens were permitted to get married and I had no one to ask. Besides, I had nothing to offer Leliana, for my title meant nothing. Alistair was the one with the honor of exception to the Grey Warden rules in order to be king. I was nothing._

_Anora's offer had the opposite effect, for it made me even angrier at the situation. Why would I choose to marry her when it meant I could not be with the one I wanted? Or if Leliana were to somehow tolerate my marriage to another, why would she be content to be a secret bedroom dalliance rather than find another who would not treat her like a whore? I rejected Anora quickly and made a final plea for her support, which she thinly pledged._

_My instincts were correct, for after dueling Loghain to the death for his actions that nearly left Ferelden defenseless, Anora immediately denounced Alistair. Thankfully our assistance to many of the banns and teryns overruled her vote and Alistair was selected. I nearly laughed when they asked for my endorsement of a candidate and could not favor Alistair fast enough. Anora was banished to the dungeons, rather than the executioner's block, for Alistair was benevolent as his first act as King._

_And finally, we are ready. We are to reconvene at Redcliffe as the rally point for our allies, who promised to be ready in a week's time. Soon, this will be over, one way or another. _

* * *

><p><em>Another secret, <em>Leliana exhaled slowly. Knowing he wanted to marry her sent a giddy tingle up her spine, but saddened her that he did not feel worthy. After all, Leliana was a peasant's daughter and a (wrongfully) convicted criminal in Orlais, so as a potential spouse she probably ranked far lower than a nobleman Grey Warden Commander-General who saved all of Ferelden.

She found herself wondering if she would have remained to support him. Leliana had no doubt he would have made a superb king. He would not be the first, nor last, king to be trapped in a loveless marriage and indulge in an extramarital affair (or many). To know their moments were stolen, rather than given, would have become a terrible burden over time._ But if I had to choose between losing him to the Archdemon and sharing him with Ferelden, I would have accepted Mistress in a heartbeat._

She turned to the last entry, fearful of its implications.

* * *

><p><em>Redcliffe 9:12, 9:31 Dragon<em>  
><em>It is strange to think of the end. It has danced before me for so long, that to see it finally before me still feels incomplete somehow.<em>

_We march into battle on the morn, to face the darkspawn army heading to Denerim. Our allies stand at the ready. The elves, dwarves, mages and Bannorn finally united after a year on the brink of civil war._

_Alistair and I held a meeting with Riordan. We have a dark task ahead. I find myself returning to my anger at Duncan; first because he would not allow me to stay and protect my family, and now because he withheld our true purpose as Grey Wardens. One, or all, of us are going to die tomorrow. Because the Blight demands it. Now I understand why the Legion of the Dead welcomes new recruits by holding their funeral, for against darkspawn only Death is the victor._

_Riordan has promised that he shall be the one to strike down the Archdemon, an act that destroys the old god and the Warden both. But my heart knows the task belongs to Alistair and me. We were simply lambs raised for slaughter._

_I am trying to be at peace with this information, for it is a burden I have unknowingly shouldered for a year. Every moment of stillness, I feel as though I am looking into the future. I have no fact to substantiate this belief, but I know I am going to die tomorrow._

_I keep trying to broach the subject with Leliana, but the words do not come. I do not wish to burden her further. If this is to be my end, I want it on my own terms. My one prayer to the Maker, who I have finally made peace with, is that the last thing I see before the end would be her face. Only her._

_Another turn of events was the discovery of Morrigan's true motive. I had always been wary of the witch, knowing she barely tolerated the lot of us so for her to continue at our back required a higher purpose. I had just returned to my room after mine and Alistair's chat with Riordan when I found her standing at my fire. I was profoundly irritated, for I wanted to spend my last night of eternity wrapped in my sweet bard's embrace. _

_She offered me a way out, for a price. All I had to do was take her to my bed. A child conceived from our union would spare a Warden's life, but give her a powerful tool no longer tainted by the darkspawn. To my shame, I considered her offer. I very much want to live, to see the world beyond the shadow cast by the Blight, to walk a path unburdened by hardship, and to spend what remained of my short lifetime at my bard's side. Even to see the Calling, where I'm told I will become a slave to the taint and only soothed by death, would be a blessing._

_No._

_To bed Morrigan would be a betrayal. To Leliana. To myself. To what I have attempted to stand for since I was thrust upon this task. Morrigan offered that Alistair could also fulfill her ritual, but I knew how deeply he despised the witch. For her to conceive a child who was an old god as well as a royal heir bordered on absurd._

_I will not hand over such power to a woman who cares for nothing and no one in this world. To someone who considers mercy, friendship, love... as weaknesses. At least the darkspawn have an excuse for why they are what they are. This child... could become an even greater abomination and be wrapped in the flesh of men. It is a price too steep with too many unknowns._

_I chose to keep this conversation from Alistair, knowing he would want one of us to live in spite of the cost. And Leliana… I could never face her again, so I may as well die. But I would rather die doing what is right._

_I took the easy way out my entire life. I wasted my youth whoring and brawling and when the time came to shield my family from harm, I failed. I promised on the ashes of my home that I would do what is right and just._

_I will stand and tilt but never withdraw._

_I am a Grey Warden: in peace, in war, in death._

* * *

><p><em>He… he could have lived. He would still be alive, but chose to die.<em> It was a revelation Leliana chewed over for a long moment, returning to her anger and longing.

_He chose to give up. No, that is unfair... He cared for me too deeply to betray me. If he had asked, would I have permitted it? Would I be grateful to send him away to return with her scent, knowing she had lain with him in my rightful place? Would he have dreamt of her, always wondering if he made the right choice to remain with me? She would have born his child, I do not even know if I am able to bear children. Maybe he wouldn't have told me, or asked, and simply continued to live as though nothing unusual happened._

Leliana sighed, sloppily batting tears away with her palm. He insisted on being so damn noble all the time and refused to be selfish, even if it meant saving his own life. She couldn't tell if it was what he wanted, or just what he thought he was supposed to do_. Which would be worse?_

_All I know is: I am left behind to pick up the pieces._

Loose pages remained, containing detailed lists of instructions he had set to get his affairs in order, mostly addressed to Alistair. Leliana sifted through the missives with interest, but was saddened at how necessary these precautions proved to be.

A document the Warden had sealed and noted by a herald spelled out how to distribute what remained of his possessions and coin.

* * *

><p><em>I, Warden-Commander Cousland, being of sound body and mind, hereby declare the following as my last will and testament. <em>

_I appoint my brother, Fergus Cousland, to carry out the wishes herein. But in the absence of my brother, do bestow King Alistair Theirin as executor of what remains of my estate._

_Highever shall receive a new teryn should my brother be found deceased or otherwise unable to rule, to be decided by King Alistair Theirin.  
><em>

_My parents, sister-in-law, nephew and all deceased citizens of Highever under Arl Rendon Howe are to be pardoned from any alleged crimes and receive proper burial._

_My shield shall be returned to Highever to my father's resting place._

_To Bann Loren in memory of Landra and Dairren: 100 sovereigns.  
><em>

_To Bella, via her new tavern in Denerim: a monthly investment of 5 sovereigns.  
><em>

_To Kaitlyn, Denerim: the Green Blade returned to her, with gratitude for its service in slaying the forces of evil._

_To Dagna, via Circle Tower: the Cousland's library so that she may expand her studies._

_To Shianni, via the Alienage: a writ of nobility granting her a seat with King Alistair Theirin's council of advisors.  
><em>

_To Keeper Lanaya: all elven artifacts recovered and stored at Soldier's Peak.  
><em>

_To Amethyne, Iona's daughter in the Denerim Alienage: a monthly stipend of 10 sovereigns for her and her family as long as she lives and a special writ requesting the girl be trained at the Palace as a lady-in-waiting._

_And I ask Leliana to one day forgive me, for keeping secret these facets of my life she, above all, deserved to know._

* * *

><p>And there it was. The Warden had given her his journal, exposed all his selfishness, weakness, pride, rage, revenge and despair. He hid things in writing he never spoke aloud because he felt bound by duty, stupid nobility, or just some perverse sense of honor. And he had marched on to death fearing she wouldn't understand, choosing instead to leave her behind to reconcile the man he presented himself as with the man he was.<p>

Leliana found herself seething. _Coward! I deserved these conversations in person! To make rational decisions based on the truth. I deserved the chance to fight about this, argue about this, and be given the opportunity to walk away._

_But I can't walk away_. The realization sobered her as she clasped her hand to her mouth and huffily exhaled through her nose. Even at the beginning, Leliana had been in too deep to just walk away. It would be easier, certainly. Her soul would not be writhing in agony at the loss, but it would be all the worse to feel regret or nothing at all.

_At least I said my goodbyes_. She found herself back at the gates of Denerim, waiting for orders on how to proceed. The other Grey Warden, Riordan, had run off to lead some of Eamon's men in search of the darkspawn generals. Her Warden was barking orders, dividing up their forces to simultaneously stay back to defend the front lines and venture onward to track down the Archdemon. Each of their companions were clasping hands and saying goodbyes to him and each other. Praises of the other's fortitude, strength, wit, honor and skill flowed freely while trying to avoid admitting the impossible task before them.

But they had specialized in the impossible for a year now, so there was reason to hope.

She was the last to see him. The Warden had stood out on the ruins of the gates, his thoughtful gaze swept across the battlefield. His gaze had softened as it swung back to meet hers, though his already dirty face was impassive. They savored the magnitude of the moment for awhile and it was Leliana who had spoken first.

"So this is it? This is the end? We've come so far. It's strange knowing that all our fates will be decided in a matter of hours." She had scanned the city as he had before continuing, "We stand on the precipice before the greatest battle of our age... I wonder if the heroes of old ever felt like this." A smile twitched on the corner of his mouth as he softly asked, "Are you scared?"

"I am not afraid," Leliana remembered saying confidently. And it was true, she wasn't. "We go to fight for a good cause and there is nowhere I would rather be." The Warden gave a terse nod, serving as both agreement and a salute of respect. Her voice grew fainter, but still retained her confidence.

"You are my dearest friend. And my love. You lit my path through darkness and I will stand with you, to whatever end. This day, we will forge a legend of our own." He raised his shield triumphantly, rallying her, Alistair and Wynne to his side with a mighty "For the Grey Wardens! For Ferelden!" His shout echoed all over the battlements as they marched towards the heart of the city to beat back the darkspawn once and for all.

Leliana had not joined the cry, for she rallied behind a different hope... a hope she now locked away, to carry with her on a journey now made alone.

"Win this war for us, my Grey Warden. And... come home."

* * *

><p><strong>Ren's Note:<strong>

_I do actually kind of like Anora, but for the sake of this piece I skewed her to be more of a shameless harpy desperate to stay Queen, hence why it's her idea for the Warden to be King rather than his. Cousland/Anora always intrigued me and is something I'd probably enjoy exploring, along with a Mahariel/Alistair AU that suddenly sprang into my brain. Oh Bioware, you little plot bunny-inspiring hussy.  
><em>

_Anyway, this is (technically) the end.. since everything after starts over at the beginning. Hope you enjoyed it! And thanks to everyone who was intrigued enough to follow updates and leave reviews! I greatly appreciate your kindness and helpful suggestions so I can avoid looking like a dink falling into rookie mistakes. I'm all about the learning.  
><em>

_Will she see her Warden again like the (unhardened) ending promises in the game? Check out my epilogue/sequel, DA:Unforgotten, where I dole out more soppy angst.  
><em>


End file.
